Pick up the Pieces and Rebuild
by Umei no Mai
Summary: Xanxus makes a decision and follows through on it, far-reaching consequences be damned. It's harder than it sounds. (Post-canon, canon-typical violence, crime and child abuse, exploration of trauma and recovery, panic attacks, non-traditional relationships, family fluff.) Third in the 'Pick up the Pieces' series. Cover art by mayurei.
1. Chapter 1

This story is written on Fanfiction dot net and published there only. Anybody reading this story on other websites is reading unauthorised copies. Please read this story on Fanfiction dot net where I can see reviews and hit-counts, which tell me how much people are enjoying my work so I can be encouraged to go on writing.

Beta'd by the beloved Insane Scriptist.

So... it's been a hell of a month. RL issues hitting me sideways followed by (eventual) miraculous resolutions, but still leaving me with bureaucracy to wrestle with and the Pit of Despair (TM) to claw my way out of. But there's some story! Yay!

Updates daily for the next four days, specifically.

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

"He said _what_?!"

Xanxus tossed the folder at Mammon's face; he wasn't going to repeat himself, not after the morning he'd had. The Varia's treasurer caught the file, opened it and swiftly skimmed the orders contained within as Xanxus dug into the meal Tyrant had considerately brought along to the meeting; it was three o'clock and he'd not eaten since breakfast, which had been at seven so he could arrive at the Iron Fort for a quarter to eight this morning. Far too long ago for him not to feel half-starved, for all he'd just been sitting and explaining every little detail thrice over to Chew Toy; he'd not exercised anything except his patience but his metabolism and appetite hadn't got the memo.

It was possible to _feel_ the miser's opinion of the old fart's latest orders; the entire building seemed to flex and quiver around them as the former Mist Arcobaleno's fury eroded their control of the Territory the Varia was contained within. Mammon then breathed out and visibly compartmentalised the worst of the anger away, but the raw emotion could still be felt in the air all around them and would have already seeped into every nook and cranny of the castle; this would be obvious to even the most oblivious of Latents.

"That manipulative, self-righteous, judgemental, _lazy-minded_ _ **scum**_ ," the apparent six-year-old hissed, glowing faintly indigo around the edges as the file in their hands started smoking slightly. "Of all the financially irresponsible, professionally inadvisable, overly-moralistic and utterly _insulting_ –" the file was thrown down on the table as the Mist's coherence dissolved into vehement polyglot swearing. Complete with emphatic gestures and picking up their cup of tea, flash-boiling the liquid in seconds and tossing the fragile porcelain across the room to shatter against the wall between Luss and the shark.

The swearing continued as the cup reformed in midair, only to succumb to gravity and shatter again as it hit the marble floor; and people wondered how he and Mammon had enough spiritual compatibility to form a proper Guardian bond. Xanxus knew he and Squalo moved in lockstep in how they thought and reasoned, but under all the masks, emotional scars and behaviour required by their respective positions, he and Mammon shared extremely similar personalities. A thing which was most evident on those rare occasions when Mammon lost control of their temper.

Bel reached over and pulled the scattered pages towards him, Maínomai and Sumu leaning in behind him to read as well. Their shifts in facial expression and Flames as they took the various points on board made their respective opinions explicit.

"But, but that's _garbage_!" The Mist Officer complained a little plaintively. "That's not how offering a service _works_ , we're not selling limited-edition collector's items we can jack up the price of because we made a smaller number than usual, we're selling a service so we're only being contracted based on need and all those customers are constrained by their own financial circumstances and are operating their own cost-benefit analyses which determine whether they consider our service to be worth the expense. We don't operate in a vacuum; not accepting contracts doesn't mean fewer people die, it means those prospective clients go elsewhere and hire somebody else. A sloppier somebody else, resulting in more collateral damage and maybe even more deaths, in turn leading to more unrest and making the Underworld unsettled and generally more unsafe. It's not even taking the Vongola back to its roots to do less murder; Primo was a _vigilante_! He did a _ton_ of murder enforcing the peace he wanted! If anything we're the Vongola House _most_ in line with his original directives!"

"Don Vongola doesn't care about any of that," Bel said evenly, passing the file on to Lethe and Lussuria. "He only cares about punishing Boss for undermining him and reducing the power and influence of the Varia within the Alliance. Our lives and livelihoods mean little to him and he cares even less for those who will be most affected by this policy; they are not his people and mean nothing."

"He clearly doesn't realise that the only reason the Vongola receives so much leeway on the international stage is due to the Varia," Sumu muttered distastefully. "We are _why_ he has such power and influence abroad; without us the Vongola is just one more Italian Mafia Family. One with more Flame-Actives than most perhaps, but also more focused on the research, manufacturing and trading side of things; we do not train everybody with Flame potential to the highest possible standard, because our Latents are not constantly at risk of abduction or assassination for their bloodline potential, so they are free to pursue other careers. Strangle the Varia and our families become targets." The world had changed drastically since the Varia had come into being and there was no going back to how things had been before, no matter what the old fart thought he wanted; that rose-tinted vision had never existed in the first pace and was completely out of reach besides. High-speed travel and global communication were here to stay, with all their associated complications.

"Our families but not _his_ family," shark said quietly, accepting the file from Luss and holding it flat so Tyrant could read the contents as well without looming behind him. "Vongola Personnel has not offered universal training to Actives since the war; central instruction is only available for Vongola Guardian candidates. Everybody else is dependent on their respective families having the appropriate connections and the right resources to hand. Other than the Varia, which has the highest concentration of Actives of any Underworld organisation anywhere on the planet, trains everybody who signs the contracts and allows those who join to leave at any time they wish, regardless of their rank or time in service."

Xanxus finished his lamb and spoke. "Technically _my_ orders, not yours."

"Considering retirement, Boss?" Lethe asked mildly.

"Voi, if you go we're joining you," shark said flatly; "you're our _Sky_ ; we're not letting you run off and get into shit without us."

"The Prince is not in the habit of allowing peasants to speak for him but will let it slide on this occasion," Bel said quietly, smile nowhere in evidence. "However the Prince assumes Boss has a plan in mind?"

"Half a plan," Xanxus admitted; it would take quite a bit of work and talking to a number of non-Varia individuals to turn his vague idea into an actual plan. He'd need to determine its feasibility and that took time and effort to investigate and trial.

"Let's have it then Boss," shark demanded.

"Mammon, how would the Varia be affected by following these orders for a full year?" Xanxus asked first.

"Where do I begin?" The miser muttered bitterly. "Cash-flow would be seriously affected for starters, which means we would be less able to make short-notice purchases and have to delay acquiring or replacing equipment as we needed it, as well as limiting use of high-maintenance assets like the plane, or else cut into capital and lose investment income on top of that. Everybody's personal income would be reduced as well, so fewer holidays and more care when budgeting and an increase in underlying stress because with fewer missions available and longer associated travel times, Squads will compete for the higher-paying opportunities rather than settle for allowing GMs and Officers to assign them according to best fit, reducing cohesiveness and encouraging in-fighting, leading to a higher likelihood of injury and death in-house. More downtime between missions along with more time needed to travel to and from missions means more bored Varia and lowered morale, again leading to more in-house disciplinary difficulties, and a smaller float of funds also means a reduction in philanthropic missions, which would also be bad for morale. Twice over, because a good number of Varia would also feel like they are betraying their personal values by no longer taking those missions on, despite knowing they cannot personally afford to do so due to reduced income generally.

"We would have to cut other costs, like letting some of the garage and garden staff go and having regular Varia with the appropriate qualifications fill in for a part-time fee, which would lead to increased expenses down the line from lack of maintenance, time delays and so on, and might even need to instate more stringent tests for Apprentices and let some of them go since they are an ongoing investment with limited payoffs in the short term. It would also be necessary to rearrange other long-term investments and liquidate a range of shorter-term investments ahead of time, leading to _more_ losses in order to have the funds and resources available to continue functioning smoothly." Mammon growled in their throat. "And that is without going into the effect this will have on customer behaviour and our image, both of which will lead to appreciable losses in both the short and long term."

About what Xanxus had expected then, but explained in greater and more depressing detail; morale taken out the back and shot, more infighting over fewer missions, subsequent disciplinary issues causing deaths and increased medical costs, having to let non-critical people go and the repercussions of _that_ costing them more money down the line as well. "Six months?"

"Less severe," the Varia Treasurer said promptly, eyeing him curiously from under their hood. "September is a madhouse so a slight reduction in mission load would actually be healthy in the short term and could be made up for by carrying out the missions not taken up then in the months following, offering a slight discount to customers to account for the delay or simply claim that time constraints did not allow for their request to be carried out sooner. Have to cook the books slightly there, but it would be easily concealed by using the summer slow period as a buffer. He wanted a quarterly reduction, so we can easily achieve that by fiddling the length of the Quarter and when it is measured from; having the last week of September in the next Quarter, for instance, or backdating certain missions. Still have to move investments around a bit, but could leave the longer-term ones as they are and create a few short-term slush funds to boost us through the tight spot."

Xanxus nodded; better than he'd thought then, but the Varia was stupidly profitable so long as they were allowed to get on with doing their jobs. They had a _private plane_ for fuck's sake, which said it all in terms of how well murder paid. "Mammon, you have my permission to acquire whatever funds you consider necessary through any means you deem appropriate to ensure my subordinates do not experience a reduction in income or quality of life during the next six months," he said calmly. "Setting up a separate book system is also authorised, for non-Vongola funds and investments."

Mammon caught the subtext; _all_ the subtext. "Mu, it would be my _pleasure_ ; I will begin immediately." They vanished, although the seething hum in the air remained. Mammon was still pissed as all hell –which could be felt– but now the fury was edged with glee. Anybody with sense would be looking for a deep hole to hide in and taking all their money with them.

"Siccing Mammon on Vongola Financial, Boss?" Sumu asked mildly.

"I'm sure Mammon will limit themselves to inconveniencing those personally responsible for the Varia's current situation," Xanxus said clearly, knowing the miser could still hear him.

Bel snickered; Xanxus agreed that the prospect of the old fart facing unexpected cash-flow problems in his personal accounts due to financial sleight-of-hand was a profoundly satisfying one.

"So why a six month deadline, Boss?" Lethe asked, clearly having divined at least part of his intentions.

"End of the financial year," Xanxus said shortly; he wasn't going to mention his barely-sketched-out retirement plans yet, not when they lacked substance and he didn't have anything in place yet. Florrie would be fine; he owned the building she lived in and he fully intended to keep hold of it even if he _did_ retire, so she was safe. Squalo and Bel –and probably Lussuria and Mammon– on the other hand… he didn't have a clue what their post-Varia plans were, if they even had any. He'd have to find out while he was arranging contingencies.

Speaking of, he needed to talk to his aunt Annamaria as soon as possible; she'd probably be free this afternoon, so he could call the Cavallone and see if she minded him dropping by. He didn't have any other commitments until tomorrow, after all.

* * *

When Squalo had considered his own retirement plans they'd always been vague, in a 'several years down the line, I'm not even thirty yet' kind of way. Now however Boss had dropped a hard, imminent deadline on his head –screw the vague, his Sky was just playing things close to the chest until he had the details properly pinned down but the commitment had been made– and he was confronted with the need to plan his own exit from the Varia as quickly as possible.

With this in mind, he tracked down Mammon and knocked on the door of the treasury office.

"Come in, Squalo."

Squalo came in, closed the door behind him and sat on the chair in front of his fellow Guardian's desk. "Will you be retiring when Boss does?"

The Mist did not look up from their laptop. "That is entirely dependent on what his long-term plans for the Varia are," the miser said briskly, "but considering what I know of Don Vongola and what I've seen of the increasing uncertainty being faced by Vongola Financial as Nono attempts to install Chew Toy as his Heir? I may do. If I do remain I will not stop managing Boss's money for him simply because he is no longer Varia Head; he is still my Sky. However if he has a plan in mind beyond 'lie low,' something profitable that would benefit from my attention and investment… I would leave. I have already stepped down from active service, so all I would need to do would be resign as Treasurer, which as I am in Housekeeping now I could do at as little as a month's notice."

"Voi, any specific retirement plans?"

Mammon tilted their head up and their lips pursed, presumably giving Squalo a withering look from under their hood. "I never _expected_ to retire at all; I spent thirty years stuck as a toddler with no end in sight. Then the Curse was broken and I found myself aging at double-speed; I still do not know if the aging will stop once I reach the age I was when I was Cursed, whether the aging will continue until my physical age matches my chronological age or if I will simply to continue to age this quickly until I die. It might even speed up; I have no idea."

Well that rather put a damper on things, didn't it?

"In the meantime I am happy to follow along with whatever Boss has in mind, so long as he is fiscally responsible about it," the Mist continued calmly. "His plans and overall methodology have resulted in a marked increased in assets for the Varia thus far, so I know he will not waste my efforts."

Mammon's first love was money and Boss was never going to stop needing his money managed, so the miser would continue doing so until the day they died. Fair enough.

Squalo considered his next question and the likelihood of getting an answer without shelling out hard cash, then asked in anyway; with the miser as angry as they felt right now, they might tell him for free purely so as to vent a bit.

"How did your looking into Don Vongola's dismissal of Mist-tests go?"

The miser paused, lips twisting from the habitual pout into a grimace that was almost a smirk; it was an incredibly disconcerting facial expression on a six-year-old. "It turns out," the Mist said mildly, resuming their tapping at the laptop keyboard, "that Daniela Vongola was quite shockingly practical in the matter of siring a child; Nono's father was his mother's original Rain Guardian."

Squalo gaped. "Voooi! But, but she was _married_!" He couldn't recall the guy's name of the top of his head, but he'd definitely existed; some civvie forth cousin of the then-Don Tegliori with a bit of Alliata and Lanza in there too.

"But he died shortly after her son was born, did he not?" The Mist pointed out lightly, "and her Mist is still lauded as one of the best the Vongola has ever seen. Could her husband not have died even before she married him and her Guardians preserved the farce to ensure there was never _any_ threat to her eventual leadership of the Family?"

That– that wasn't as implausible as it might have been. If Xanxus had been a woman and marriage had been the best way to 'secure' the Headship of the Family –and the Alliance's support– then Squalo would have suggested something like that. Find somebody related to several Alliance Families but out-of-the-way and fairly obscure, known _of_ but not truly known, then kill them off and use a Mist-replacement thereafter, with Guardians in on the trick to provide verisimilitude and witnesses. Preferably someone with a strong physical resemblance to either a Guardian or Boss, so that eventual kids would appear suitably legitimate. Or pick somebody recently dead in a traffic accident or something; cloud the minds of the immediate family and the first responders so that 'dead' became 'badly injured but recovering well,' arrange a meeting with Boss and the 'falling for each-other' under some plausible and in-character premise and you even had a romantic fairytale to sell the illusion with.

Ottava hadn't really had a choice about 'killing off' her husband; while women had been allowed to inherit property back then, husbands still had full authority over their wives and only widows were allowed undisputed guardianship of their children. It wasn't like that anymore –a Donna could feasibly have a 'trophy husband' and do all the politics herself– but a certain level of misogynistic prejudice lingered. "Voi, wasn't Ottava's first Rain a full Tegliori?"

"The then-Don's cousin, yes," Mammon agreed. "It rather shows, doesn't it?"

Yeah, Nono Vongola did have a number of very strongly Tegliori traits; his insistence on the primacy of family to the point of disregarding blood in favour of allegiance, for one, and his pig-headed refusal to accept he might be wrong for another. The Tegliori were extremely insular within the Alliance and tended to judge a person by their Family, so they weren't particularly influential or forward-thinking. Extremely loyal yes; sensible about it no. Specific individuals might buck the Family trend every so often, but the majority remained entrenched in their narrow rut with no thought to how restrictive it was.

If Don Vongola had recognised he was Tegliori as much as Vongola he might have been better able to check himself, but he clearly considered himself purely and solely Vongola and therefore 'above' the failings of the Alliance's other bloodlines. To the point of deciding that an _entire branch_ of Mist-work was 'inherently flawed' because the result of his blood being tested didn't feature his mother's husband as his father.

Clearly he'd never bothered to _ask_ his mother about that, or else she'd have set him straight; Daniela Vongola had been a very direct woman like that. With her son fully established as Head of the Family, she would have had no reason to keep his parentage from him if he asked.

"Boss hit a _really_ sore point there, didn't he?" Squalo commented wryly, thinking back to that January meeting where the 'NO' mug had debuted.

"Don Vongola retains the prevalent Catholic attitude towards bastardy, despite his bringing Boss into his home," the miser said coolly. "The implication that he was born out of wedlock, and that his mother was therefore a 'loose woman'… an emotional response is not so surprising, however impolitic and Stupidly destructive of his own power base. His Guardians lack the confidence or Will to speak out against his decisions, so his overreactions go unquestioned and unchecked."

"Voooi, because of _course_ Don Vongola _must_ have a plan, he'd never do _anything_ based on a spiteful impulse," Squalo muttered sarcastically. "Petty small-minded asshole."

"Go and be bitter elsewhere or I will charge you," Mammon said tartly; that was the pot calling the kettle black, but Squalo went. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

Talking to Annamaria was very informative and also very helpful; Xanxus now had a load of notes on how Mafia Land's leasing system worked and the assurance that the Cavallone had sufficiently few investments on the artificial island that they could support his currently-tentative but rather ambitious idea without either getting hit by additional sanctions or having to limit their stake. His aunt had also reminded him that he was the Cavallone _Heir_ and the entire Family had absolute faith in his skills; if this was what he wanted, they would back him to the hilt because he had proven time and again that he knew how to play the game and come out on top.

Xanxus wasn't used to non-Varia trusting him like that; it was very odd, but not uncomfortably so. It did give him slightly more confidence in his still-nebulous plans for the upcoming months, but he would need to talk to Mammon in more detail before he committed himself entirely. This would be a major investment and somewhat risky, so he needed to have the costing as conservative as possible before making his move or he could overreach badly and have everything come crashing down.

He had the regular Quiet Week meetings with his Officers to get through first, but he should be able to fit in a tête-à-tête with the Varia Treasurer on one of the afternoons. Probably in the second half of the week; by then Mammon would have had time to move investments around, pin down more clearly the financial requirements of the upcoming half-year and begin planning appropriate mitigation strategies and sounding out alternative sources of income.

The Varia Boss had a feeling a good proportion of that income would be diverted from the old fart's private funds somehow, but honestly who cared about that. Decrepit asshole had it coming for penalising the Varia over a personal grudge.

* * *

Kalk got admitted to Varia Medical on the Wednesday of Quiet Week for a month of organ transplants and gene therapy, which went almost unremarked upon because by then every single Named assassin had heard about Don Vongola's new orders and Boss's frankly worrying reaction to them; Mammon's opinion had been felt as well and was a topic of gossip, although nobody had actually _asked_ the Mist about that for fear of getting charged. Squalo had _all_ his Squad Leaders in his office first thing Tuesday morning wanting to know if he was retiring early; the Rain Officer had made them a copy of Boss's orders to read –it wasn't like he'd been ordered to keep things confidential– and kicked them out, because his meeting with his Sky was due to start barely a quarter of an hour later and they could draw their own damn conclusions without his help.

Nobody achieved Varia Quality without being able to judge the most likely consequences of a theoretical course of action; Nono's orders would have a drastic effect on the Varia bottom line and there were a limited number of ways Boss could mitigate that. Retiring _would_ work, at least until this time next year when the new Head of the Varia would have to meet with Don Vongola, look the asshole in the eye and state that he was unaware of any specific orders the old man might have given their predecessor concerning mission load. Providing there even _was_ a new Head by then.

Any assassin could see that if Boss left, his Guardians would follow him; maybe not immediately in Lussuria's case –as Head of Medical he had more responsibilities and would want to train up a successor– but within a year or so most certainly. That would deprive the Varia of three veteran Officers without there being anybody with the skill or ambition to succeed them and that didn't bode well for the organisation as a whole; four Divisions would be left headless.

The Lightnings had no one with the people skills for Officer, Sun Division could promote a GM if needed but Rain and Storm Division would probably have to promote somebody from their respective Division Squads and hope for the best. If Gwasgedd and Sarja hadn't retired already they'd be his first choice for Rain and Storm Officer respectively, because it wasn't the paperwork or the larger politics within the Vongola that were the problem; it was misjudging the inter-personal politics and people-wrangling _within_ the Varia that got Officers killed and no one in either Divisions currently had the charisma and experience to manage things, although Tsue came close. Historically the leading cause of Officer-death was getting offed by disgruntled subordinates, followed by execution by Tyrant.

Squalo was also getting the impression –from the general feel of people's Flames– that every single assassin in the building was _deeply_ offended that Don Vongola was interfering with their mandate and driving _their_ leader out of his position. Boss was Head of the Varia on his own merits; how _dare_ Nono undermine that?! How _dare_ he leverage Boss's regard for his men to force him to step down?! The Varia knew Boss cared about them –it showed clearly to anybody capable of reading between the lines– and it was fiercely reciprocated, no matter how much of an asshole the Sky could be at times.

The Rain Officer wasn't entirely sure yet how this would end up going –there was as yet no indication of which way anybody would jump– but he had a feeling it could get nasty if some Dumbass decided they were offended by Nono's manipulations. He'd have to remind his men that this was first and foremost _Boss's_ problem and they should let him have first crack at it.

It was only polite after all.

* * *

Xanxus's last meeting of Quiet Week was technically not _in_ Quiet Week at all, but on the Sunday after. Sunday was the day of rest, so it wasn't an official meeting. Quite the opposite in fact; it took place down on the farmstead, over the kitchen table, rather than in Xanxus's office.

"So what prompted this invitation, Boss?" Tyrant asked, cup of coffee cradled in both hands.

Xanxus fiddled with his own mug of tea, then noticed what he was doing and stopped. This idea had come to him following the realisation that retired Varia were a resource he could call upon; he'd promptly done some calling around and arranged a few meetings in neutral territory –mainly bars in Palermo– and enough of his former subordinates had agreed to his idea for it to be viable.

"Due to Don Vongola's recent policy alteration, the Varia can no longer take on as many missions as was previously possible," the younger Sky began, "but I will be recommending an alternative organisation to certain Alliance and Allied clients whose grievances align with Vongola values. Said organisation is a much smaller group, backed by the Cavallone."

Tyrant hummed pensively, clearly divining the direction this conversation was headed in.

"Accidents only," Xanxus continued measuredly, "but the discretion offered in on par with our own. It being so much smaller, contracts may take a little longer to be carried out, but the desired result will be reached and I am prepared to personally vouch for their efficiency and skill. Their prices are also more modest, since being smaller means they have fewer overheads." Two retired members of Information had agreed to run his new business for him jointly with Mab, the Mist Officer who had preceded Mammon, coordinating with the miser to arrange funding. Start-up money was coming out of Xanxus's personal accounts, along with the Cavallone funds set aside for the Heir and a tithe of the revenue of certain other businesses run by retired Varia, who had been happy to assert that their loyalty was to Xanxus _personally_ , so if he was Cavallone then that was where they would prefer to send their money.

Nevada in particular had been keen; the Mist ran a casino in Palermo and his business income was frankly obscene. Up until Thursday a significant chunk of that income had gone to the Varia and on from there to the Vongola, but Mammon was petty enough to exploit every last possible loophole to cut the old fart off from those sources of income that were not strictly related to missions, so now that money –money that was technically tithed to Xanxus _personally_ as the Boss they followed– ran through the miser's shadow books. Xanxus's Mist Guardian was also muttering vindictively about asset stripping, which promised to be very profitable for the various individuals involved and prohibitively expensive for the Vongola.

Xanxus was rather looking forward to it.

"Why are you informing me of the existence of this new organisation?" Tyrant asked calmly.

Xanxus made eye-contact and smiled thinly. "I thought you might know a few people willing to sign on as contractors with this new venture," he said frankly. "Full refusal rights for every mission offered, all expenses paid and good social opportunities, as well as full healthcare." The Cavallone owned more large properties than just the main Family pile the Don lived in, including a good-sized mansion up by the coast on the border with Palermo. A busy, bustling port town where alliances shifted daily and nobody would notice a few more people passing through; good smuggling opportunities too, what with the property having its own little jetty.

The Head of Varia Housekeeping sipped his coffee pensively. Xanxuas drank his own tea and waited; this little scheme wasn't his main plan –honestly he'd set it up as an afterthought, to prevent the more desperate clients from slipping through the cracks and ensure the transition had minimal impact on the wider Underworld– but it would be good for the Cavallone bottom line and equally good for the local Varia retirees, who would need an alternative support network just in case the old fart got his wish. If the aging fucker got rid of the Varia for good, the retirees would lose access to the personalised healthcare they were currently entitled to and would have to turn to Vongola Medical. Which they would only be able to access after swearing service to the Alliance, which most of them hadn't done due to being loyal to the Varia specifically rather than the Vongola generally. Most of them wouldn't be willing to take those oaths either; they were 'retired' after all, so swearing service would mean leaving retirement.

"I believe," the deceptively ageless Sky said eventually, "that I might know a few individuals who could be interested."

"Mammon can put you in touch," Xanxus replied, pleased that his impromptu patch-job for those most immediately affected by the old fart's Stupid new policy had Tyrant's forbearance, if perhaps not his approval. This was after all not something Ottava would have appreciated –he was technically appropriating Vongola assets– and Ottava had been the only Vongola Tyrant had ever truly _obeyed_.

The old fart had always been terrified of the Sky his mother had brought home at the end of the war and Tyrant had no time for cowards.

* * *

Much as had been the case last year, it was impossible to claim Mammon's birthday entirely; despite retiring from active service the Mist still woke up early enough to catch the fiscal news on one of the international channels, go over the stock news and all the many details of the many companies that they probably shouldn't be able to access, to assess whether the stock was going to increase or crash depending on the company. Somewhere in there breakfast was eaten according to Luss's nutritional plan and the faux-six-year-old got ready for the day.

Most of the morning was spent managing invoices, speaking with Information about the price to be offered for one tricky mission or other due to increased risk, ordering parts and wholesale food deliveries for Housekeeping... lots of important busy-work. That left Mammon with their afternoons free, as they no longer had Mist Officer duties to fill up the rest of their day. So after midday Mammon usually had lunch, a nap and then spent the afternoon and evening either training or reading books. As greedy and impatient as Mammon could often be, a person could only check the bottom line and stocks so many times a day; fortunes weren't made overnight.

Which left Xanxus with just the afternoon and evening of their birthday to spend with his child-sized Officer. In July, when it got too hot to even _think_ and you walked from patch of shade to patch of shade when out of doors because to do otherwise was courting heatstroke; it didn't give him much in the way of options.

Mammon was in some ways the easiest of his Guardians to cater to: put together a picnic of sandwiches and leftovers, find a few afternoon markets and bookstores open to haggling and the miser would be happy. Add on free ice cream and Mammon would be pleased enough to provide minor discounts for most of the following day.

In other ways Mammon was incredibly challenging to pamper, because despite –or perhaps because of– their fixation on money they scorned most physical gifts. Xanxus's most successful gift to date had been a book of coupons and money-off vouchers, which his Mist had put to use on missions. He was hoping that home-made ice cream might top that, especially if he bought fresh strawberries to make the miser's favourite flavour.

* * *

By late afternoon Mammon had acquired a range of rare books they were smugly pleased with, offered commentary on a range of items on sale in the Vintage Market in Castellammare del Golfo that Xanxus had picked to visit since it came recommended by his Superbi cousins, and was giving off a general air of comfortable relaxation. Xanxus meanwhile had bought a range of fruit and other foodstuffs that he knew worked well in ice cream –including fresh eggs to make patisserie cream– and gently steered his Mist up the hill and out of the centre of town, towards the edge of the Superbi Estate. Don Leone had made it clear he was welcome to come and go as he pleased, so the Sky intended to do just that. They could pick somewhere private and shady for their picnic, then Xanxus could hopefully amuse his child-shaped Guardian with bespoke ice cream.

"So where to now, Xanxus?" Mammon asked, hand briefly reaching out to brush the Sky's wrist; his Mist would _never_ hold his hand unless it was for a mission cover –they were far too proud– but the little touches were enough. Prodding his leg when they felt he wasn't haggling vigorously enough, leaning into him to rest their own legs for a moment, tugging on his wrist to direct him towards something that had caught their interest; Mammon was more tactile than was immediately apparent and Xanxus's comfortable acceptance of the contact made the Mist less guarded of their personal space.

"Nice cave with a view," Xanxus replied easily, "cool and shady for sitting in and enjoying our picnic." The ice cream was a surprise, or at least intended to be; Mammon certainly knew about the Ice machine –although they had very considerately not commented on it– but might not be aware that Xanxus didn't need it anymore. Equally, the miser had certainly noticed the edibles he'd bought and the cold box he was carting around, but was letting him have his secrets for now. That spoke of trust and the Sky appreciated it tremendously. Mammon knew he liked giving gifts and was deliberately averting their eyes –and Flames– from the 'surprise,' so it would remain at least a little mysterious until the time for gifting it arrived.

"How far?" it was almost a whine, but Mammon was only as tall as a six-year-old –a short six-year-old at that– and they'd been darting around the Antiques Market for hours so they probably had sore feet on top of their growing pains.

"Not that far," Xanxus promised, not letting his amusement show too much. "Could carry you."

The Mist sniffed, floating up into the air and settling themselves proprietorially on Xanxus's shoulders, resting their chin on the top of his head. "Well if you insist."

Grinning silently, Xanxus sped up to a ground-eating jog; the cave was a mile or so away and the sooner they arrived, the sooner they could eat.

* * *

A picnic and eight sampled ice cream flavours later –and he'd really scored there, Mammon had _loved_ getting fresh ice cream completely free of charge and their satisfaction was perceptibly enhanced by Xanxus's comfortable control over the Flame Inversion technique– the conversation wandered into more serious territory.

"I am concerned as to what Miss Spook may do once her political capital begins to decline," the child-shaped Mist said quietly, leaning into Xanxus's side as they both stared out at the stunning view of the town and sea below them. "She may no longer hold the Sky Pacifier, but her having usurped the position of Sky Arcobaleno after Aria's death means she may turn to us former Arcobaleno for support."

Meaning, his Mist was concerned that the imposter Sky might apply her influence on them and on their comrades, as Miss Spook's experience of all those fake future alternates meant she could know all kinds of personal information and have all the necessary inside knowledge to carry out some really effective emotional manipulation. A valid concern; child-shaped and afflicted with growing pains or not, the former Arcobaleno were still the strongest Flame-users of their generation and quite possibly of the generations immediately before and after them as well. It was also possible that the Giglio Nero had historically been more involved in selecting Arcobaleno candidates, which would further support that hypothesis. The former Arcobaleno all had considerable influence, both individually and through their various connections; people would be more reluctant to speak out against Miss Spook if doing so might net them the attention of such high-profile and dangerous people.

Also that Mammon was fretting about the possibility of Harmony manipulation, which since Miss Spook wasn't bonded to any of the former Arcobaleno was something they'd be vulnerable to, especially if they weren't expecting it from the cute 'helpless' little girl with big doe eyes. Harmony manipulation was less blatant than Mist brainwashing but it required time and proximity, which Xanxus refused to let the interloper have.

"Well fuck her, you're mine," the Varia Boss said flatly. Like hell he was _ever_ going to let another Sky mess around with one of his people, let alone one of his bonded Guardians. Miss Spook could go hang.

The burst of warmth and joy that flashed through his Mist's Flames in response to his statement made Xanxus want to grin, but he restrained himself; Mammon didn't like people noticing when they had Feelings.

"The side-venture has got off to a good start," Mammon stated after a comfortable pause. "Their coming 'Varia recommended' has given people confidence and there are sufficient contracts currently being vetted that news of its existence should start trickling out by mid-August."

Xanxus nodded; he hadn't really _needed_ to siphon off those particular contracts –summer was slow– but the old fart wanted a quarterly reduction and September was technically part of the summer quarter, so cutting missions now meant they could take more later on. Most of the summer missions in Europe and North America were personal ones –it was when most people were off work and therefore when personal issues came to a head– and most of the truly sensitive personal missions were 'accidents', so handing them off to the new co-operative of retired Varia wouldn't lead to any reduction in mission quality for the customers.

While Xanxus was funding the side-venture, he wasn't running it; he'd made that explicitly clear. When he left the Vongola the old fart would go digging for what he was doing instead and him running a 'rival' assassination business would make the paranoid old fucker decide he was a threat and yes, he _was_ a Varia Quality assassin but he wasn't infallible. The side-venture was therefore a Cavallone 'independent division' under Mab and the previous Lethe and Kimya, who were going by Morpheus and Ruhe now. Tesla had also wandered in –not that Xanxus knew the former Lighting Officer from anything other than stories, since the man had retired years before he'd taken over– as had Orso, Gereft and –more worryingly– Sabertooth. Sabertooth had been in the first generation of Marvel Squad, which implied that Deadpool was aware of matters. Not joining in just yet, thanks be to God, but aware.

Deadpool had retired long before Xanxus joined, but there were a _lot_ of Varia Stories about Deadpool. The man was chaos incarnate and probably _would_ show up at some point, but so far he hadn't and the Varia Boss was very grateful. The random Sunday visits to check in on 'hawk-guy' were bad enough already and _this_ year the former Squad Leader would undoubtedly run into Fran at some point, which could only go disastrously. Xanxus _knew_ that Fran was related to Nebbia somehow –the little pest had the same ears, build and attitude as Ottava's Mist, if brat-sized with rather different colouring– and Nebbia and Deadpool had always got along like a house on fire. An entire town on fire; a California firestorm, even.

"And the preparations for your retirement are moving forwards adequately, so everything should be in place by your birthday," the miser continued, "although I still feel you are being unnecessarily difficult about funding."

Well yes, his plan wasn't exactly straightforward, but he wanted to drive the old fart to distraction looking for an angle –hearing about how Maínomai had made Rokudo horrendously paranoid entirely by accident had been very inspiring– so his retirement scheme was deliberately set up to be as non-violent as possible. At least to begin with; the old fart wasn't going to live forever, after all. Besides, well, as his Cloud had pointed out on various occasions, resolving issues non-violently was much more challenging and often ensured they _stayed_ solved for longer.

"Be fine," he assured his Mist. "Just has to cover materials and travel costs." He had enough money in the bank to live off his investments, so it wasn't like he _needed_ to charge much for what he was planning on doing. Any forge work he sold would be appropriately priced, of course –materials were _expensive_ in Flame Tech and his expertise had value– but the style of mission work he was planning on taking would be very different to the current Varia workload. Nothing directly opposing the Vongola of course, but that wasn't so great a limitation really, especially not when you phrased 'opposing the Vongola' as 'violating Vongola values.'

The Vongola had drifted considerably from Primo's values over the years, after all, and Chew Toy's claim to want to return to them was laughable when the trash didn't even understand what they _were_. Otherwise there'd be a whole lot more fire and mayhem as Chew Toy _personally_ eliminated those who refused to fall in line with his ideals.

"You are underselling yourself," Mammon scolded, but there was no bite to it.

"Won't dig into capital," Xanxus countered mildly. "Got enough to live well on; don't need more."

"Well, at least you are allowing me to continue managing your investments," the miser sighed, "and you're not expecting me to undersell _my_ services."

"Would never."

The Mist sniffed dismissively, but there was an undercurrent of pleasure there.

The silence following the exchange was comfortable, but Xanxus eventually broke it regardless.

"Want to send some details to Skull?"

"Skull is a sucker for a sob story," Mammon muttered, which was basically a 'yes please.' "Passing on the raw data to Verde for analysis will interest him more and he'll draw his own conclusions from there; I should probably warn Fēng too, or else he will cause trouble for us." They did not mention Reborn; asshole Sun was on his own there. "Lal deserves a warning too, for all that Miss Spook is likely to ignore her in favour of Colonnello, who has a more significant reputation and reach after all those years on Mafia Land."

Xanxus had suspected Mammon might know where Lal Mirch had gone, but hadn't asked and wasn't about to now; the woman had earned her peace and quiet after so many years suffering Iemitsu and Colonello.

"More ice cream?" he offered instead, gesturing lazily at the row of mostly-full and still completely cold bowls lined up against the cave wall to their left.

"Pass me the strawberry."

"No 'please'?" Xanxus teased, grabbing the bowl in question and holding it up well above his Mist's head.

"It is _my_ birthday and _my_ ice cream," Mammon said snootily, "which you gave _me_ as a present. Hand it over before I Curse you."

Xanxus handed it over, then grabbed the bowl of chocolate ice cream for himself; so far his relatives had kept their distance, but he could sense a few curious bystanders lurking a little way off and was sure they'd get over themselves and come to investigate soon enough. Probably try to cadge some ice cream as well.

* * *

Squalo sprawled on his Sky's bed, watching the man rifle through his wardrobe and throw things into his suitcase. Because yes, his Sky owned a suitcase now; Xanxus had bought it specifically for visiting Florrie and taking civvie flights, which Squalo secretly found hilarious. All those years of just picking up his go-bag and calling it a day, then he suddenly started taking his Cloud on foreign holidays and he needed a proper suitcase. A _big_ suitcase to fit everything he might decide to wear in it.

His Sky wasn't exactly a clothes horse, but he was ridiculously picky about what clothing he wanted to wear when wandering around in public with Florrie. It was almost cute, especially since the Cloud would never even consider asking him to wear –or not wear– anything particular for the sake of her own sensibilities; all she cared about was that he was comfortable and not violating local decency laws. Yet every single time he planned a visit more than a few days long, Boss spent several hours –at least– ransacking his wardrobe and glaring at his clothing selection. Which was a hell of a lot larger these days than it had been even just twelve months previously.

It was interesting how holiday clothes differed from everyday clothes; a slightly broader range of colours for one, and looser cut everything. Softer fabrics and more knitwear too; clothing that invited physical touch rather than repelling it.

Plus, proper pyjamas. Boss _never_ wore pyjamas in summer as a general rule, but he now owned summer pyjamas and packed them when visiting his Cloud. Because, as Squalo had seen for himself, when visiting Florrie Xanxus slept in her bed and lightweight pyjamas acknowledged a boundary that wearing underwear –or nothing– to sleep in really didn't.

"So why the French Pyrenees?" Squalo asked, purely to make conversation. He knew that was where Boss was going; it wasn't exactly a secret, and his Sky was increasingly willing to chitchat about trivial things these days.

"Won't be that hot," Boss said absently, flicking back and forth through a range of shirts, "even though it's July. Attractive architecture to look at, good views to paint, interesting food, bit off the beaten track."

Those were fairly low standards for a holiday, but knowing Florrie that was the point; low standards meant you wouldn't be disappointed even if things went a bit sideways, like if it rained every day. "Voi, flying this time?" It seemed likely, seeing as he was taking the suitcase.

"Taking the bike," Xanxus said shortly, glancing at him; "having it shipped over to Montpellier, then flying after it and renting a van so we can move everything around."

It would have been more straightforward to just rent a car upon arrival, but Squalo supposed that wasn't the point; Xanxus wanted to ride his bike while on holiday with Florrie, so he was taking his bike. "Do her parents know you're planning on riding up and down wiggly mountain roads on a motorbike with their precious daughter hanging on for dear life?" The Rain teased.

His Sky huffed. "Bike's safe; Warded it extensively." In other words, no they didn't know. And Boss was in no hurry to have them find out.

Squalo snickered loudly, so Xanxus knew he knew that no, he hadn't mentioned this bit to his Cloud's parents and that Squalo also knew that his Sky really didn't want them to learn the details. Xanxus wanted his Cloud's parents to like him, and while Florrie had her own place and was an adult, her parents worrying about her taking risks would still make things awkward for her and the Sky wanted to avoid that happening.

The glare he got in return was very satisfying.

"What about your parents, shark?"

Squalo huffed. "Voi, what about them?"

"Do they know what you get up to?"

The Rain Officer pulled a face. "Who knows; maybe? Depends whether they talk to Grandpa and what he's let slip." Deliberately let slip of course; Grandpa was far more perceptive and cunning than Squalo's father could ever hope to be. Not that his father ever bothered to get in contact more than the bare minimum; his mother did, but she made a point of avoiding talking about his current career entirely in favour of what he might be interested in doing _after_ retiring from the Varia. Which was fair enough really, considering she was raised civvie.

His Sky closed the wardrobe, tossed a few shirts over his open suitcase and turned around to make eye contact. "Tell me about your parents, shark."

"Voi, why?" It wasn't exactly a happy subject.

Xanxus gave him a flat look. "Know all about _my_ parents, shark; met most of my half-siblings too."

Oh, so his Sky wanted him to reciprocate. That was… fair. "Voi, my father's Delfino's eldest," Squalo grumped, shifting restlessly on the bed under his Sky's watchful gaze. "My mother's a Soave; they met when my father was on holiday in Canada after finishing his university degree. Summer fling turned love match, all that jazz. Except it didn't last because my father's a faithless shit and my mother doesn't communicate; they got a divorce while I was on my world tour and dumped my little sister on me the moment I got back. Divorce settlement meant she couldn't stay with Grandpa, so I got her a place with the Visconti; Paola Visconti shares guardianship, which keeps people from noticing how alike we look." Plus his maternal grandmother was actually a Visconti. He paused as a thought struck him; oh yes, that was relevant too: "Paola's not told her father –or anybody else– anything except that she's fostering and Delfina's using the Visconti surname at the Academy, so Nono doesn't know and the wider Family's keeping it quiet that Delfina's actually Superbi." Which since Paola's father was Don Vongola's Cloud Guardian was a very important point; there were enough Superbi-Visconti intermarriages that having a Superbi-style name within the Visconti wasn't at all suspicious.

Xanxus nodded, not commenting on any of the uncomfortable details. "Said you were a middle sibling, shark."

Yes, he had said that, hadn't he? "Had an older brother once," Squalo said shortly. "He got in the way of a hit when I was nine; hence Delfina being ten years younger than me and our parents' marriage limping along for most of a decade longer despite basically being over even then." He didn't miss Otario; the asshole had been a controlling abusive piece of shit. Which Squalo hadn't really been able to articulate at the time, but was abundantly clear now he had the benefit of hindsight.

"Not much missed?"

"He was a complete shit," Squalo grumbled darkly. "Thought he owned me; nobody owns me." Not his parents, not his grandparents, not his uncle the Don Superbi, not the manipulative cat, not his Sky and _definitely_ not his late, unlamented brother.

Boss hummed and changed the subject. "Any retirement plans, shark?"

"Family are expecting me to settle down and marry; I'm Heir to the marine branch and all," Squalo replied more easily, relaxing at the shift to a less difficult subject matter. "Probably start pushing women at me if I don't find one by myself in the first four-five years. Think I'd like to have kids; beyond that, no clue. Don't fancy desk-work as a full-time thing, but if I asked Grandpa would slot me into the import-export business he retired from running and still owns. Rather stick with whatever you're doing; you're my Sky."

Xanxus nodded, visibly filing that away as he packed underwear and socks into his case around neatly folded pairs of trousers and shirts.

* * *

Squalo wasn't exactly pleased that his kitty-cat cousin had conned him into playing delivery boy, but he grudgingly recognised the importance of the documentation and the necessity of keeping this particular Superbi-Cavallone joint project under the radar for a bit, so as not to offend Don Vongola. Even though it was in fact a really good idea that would be very good for the Alliance in the long run; it was a plan which did not rely upon –or even require the participation of– the Vongola Family, so better to present _fait accompli_ than to look like they were scheming behind the elderly don's back.

The documentation related to plans for a private hospital, which was probably going to end up being built either just inside or just outside Alcamo; negotiations were ongoing with Don Rocca as well. The 'official' reason was to de-centralise medical care a little and take pressure off Vongola Medical, which was currently the sole provider of Flame-related treatments in the Alliance –and based in the Iron Fort with a few clinics dotted here and there as bases for midwifes and nurses, with space to carry out basic check-ups– but Squalo suspected the real reasoning behind the hospital was to break the Vongola's monopoly on emergency care. Most of Vongola Medical's staff were Alliance rather than Vongola, so many of them would be very happy to work somewhere nearer their own homes… and in a more spacious environment away from the established Vongola-centric hierarchy.

The Rocca were the Alliance Family with the smallest Territory, so hosting a hospital would give them greater influence and importance while also increasing their dependence on their neighbours; the former would encourage them to agree to the venture while the latter would make it harder for them to stand back and refuse to take sides in future Alliance decision-making, as they'd have a major stake in keeping up good relationships.

Cat was playing the long game there; sneaky.

Seeing as the specific location in mind for the hospital was on the edge of Cavallone Territory and the Cavallone were one of the largest Mafia Families –and one with a large number of professionals in a great many fields– Pantera was negotiating with horse too, which made it more than just another Alliance venture. As the Cavallone would be joint-sponsoring the hospital, Vongola Medical couldn't just take it over once it was built; they'd have to allow the Cavallone equal say in policy, which since Xanxus was Cavallone Heir now meant that some members of Varia Medical might decide to consult part-time on the Cavallone side of things, seeing as their medical expertise was otherwise limited to the physically fit and interestingly mutilated.

That had the potential to get very interesting indeed; however first the hospital had to get _built_ , which could take years. Even though the paperwork had gone through suspiciously quickly, which implied there'd been plans for this in the works for some time already, quietly getting looked over and approved by the appropriate officials, and his cousin was just taking advantage of recent events to push things past the planning stage with more alacrity than had originally been intended.

Arriving at the Cavallone Mansion, Squalo was swiftly directed towards one of the fancier receiving rooms; clearly he was expected. Equally clearly, his playing messenger for his cousin meant more formality than when he was coming as himself or with Xanxus.

Except possibly not: halfway down the hall he noticed the feeble, fluttering Flame signature that was Chew Toy past Bronco's bright, steady presence. Chew Toy always felt like that unless he was in Dying Will Mode and it was so, _so_ annoying; it broadcast his lack of Will for all the world to see and made it very clear to allies and enemies alike that he could be pushed all the way into a corner before he started to push back.

Great. He'd have to make this quick, so he could leave again in short order.

Arriving at the right door, he kicked it open. "VOOOI!" He bellowed, stomping inside and ignoring the cringing Vongola Heir entirely as he made a beeline for Bronco. "Delivery from the Heir Superbi," he added, shoving the files at the blond; "my cousin conned me into bringing these over, so you'll have to arrange your own delivery back."

"Thank you Squalo," the horse said warmly, eyes flicking over the printed sheets. "With how much policy Pantera's taken over, I'm surprised he's still signing himself as 'Heir Superbi'."

Squalo snorted. "Uncle Leone will probably be retiring within the year; he's already playing grandpa a whole lot more than Don." He side-eyed his sort-of friend. "You ever going to tie the knot, horse? Marriage and children –well, at least one child– are a condition for becoming Don Superbi; needing to understand what your family are going through and having appropriate priorities, apparently." He actually agreed with the ruling; parenting –well _good_ parenting– changed a person for the better, moulding their priorities into something more focused on the future and on the family collective.

"First I have to _find_ a lady both genuine enough and crazy enough for me to get her to the altar, Squalo," the Don Cavallone said mildly, rueful wistfulness underpinning the humour. Well true, finding somebody who wasn't a social climbing gold digger would require ingenuity, but it would be less challenging if Bronco wasn't so clumsy whenever his men were out of reach. It meant he never travelled without an entourage, and smart women were very sensibly put off attempting to socialise with a man with a dozen-strong following of suited minions in dark sunglasses.

"Try going clubbing incognito," he suggested. "Or hell, wander around a market without the groupies for once. You'd be amazed by the difference not surrounding yourself with suits can make."

Dino smiled a little absently, his eyes focused on the papers as he wandered over to the room's table, sat and pulled out a red pen. Oh, amendments then?

"Vooi, I've already said I'm not taking that back."

Don Cavallone paused, then turned the pages upside down and dropped the pen on top of them. "Well in that case there's no point my looking through them just yet. How's your summer going?"

Squalo shrugged. "Quiet as ever," he said dismissively, acutely aware of Chew Toy hovering in the background and fretting over something; the gnawing doubt made the feeble Sky Flames waiver and gutter sickly. "I'm thinking of going abroad next month; get away from the heat." Actually he was planning on taking his little sister to visit relatives in Canada for a fortnight, but he wasn't going to say that with a blabbermouth eavesdropper shuffling nervously behind him. "How 'bout you?"

"I've various meetings and business to hammer out before I can justify taking time for myself," Dino said, awkwardness expanding slowly beneath the amiable façade, "but I do have a vacation planned for August. Somewhere quiet; the men I'm planning on taking for security have been given early leave, so they're all off enjoying the beach already."

A smart move that; his security team would be in good spirits and well-rested, rather than resenting him for lounging about and making them work when they could be spending time with their own families.

"And what's Xanxus doing over the summer?" Horse very tellingly didn't say 'my brother;' good to know he didn't trust Chew Toy to keep his mouth shut either.

Squalo glared at the blond anyway. "Vooi, that's his business; if he hasn't told you I'm not about to."

Dino chuckled, the awkwardness seeping into his tone. "Ah, yes; well." He coughed, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Speaking of Xanxus, Tsuna had a question."

Squalo made a big show of heaving a loud sigh, then turned on his heel and stared flatly at the Vongola Heir, who was biting his lower lip.

"Er, um, hi, Squalo-san?" Chew Toy began nervously. "I, erm, how are you?"

Squalo gazed levelly at the cowardly _scum_ who was the reason he'd been impaled through the chest and whose Stupid-ass plan would have seen him dead were it not for Mammon being the most powerful Mist on the planet and genuinely caring about the effect his death would have on their Sky. Small talk? Seriously? Chew Toy was wasting his time with _small talk_?

Clearly divining that he wasn't going to get an answer, Chew Toy bumbled on. "I, er, I was hoping if, maybe you could tell me something? I'm kinda worried about Xanxus and, erm, I wanted to ask, how's he doing? Since, er, he was acting a bit off and I was wondering–"

"This isn't Japan, trash," Squalo said sharply. "Can the dithering; you're the Vongola Heir and I'm bound to obey you, so get to the point and stop wasting all our time. That's far politer than waffling all over Don Cavallone's office trying to screw up your courage when a simple 'I have a question, Rain Officer' would have sufficed. I'm employed by the Alliance, which means I _have_ to obey you, even if the order's just 'let me speak.' If my contracts preclude my answering I'll tell you. If you ordered me to jump off a fucking _cliff_ I'd have to do it, although I'd definitely demand an explanation afterwards! Vooi, whatever it is you want to know, spit it out!"

Chew Toy quailed, then stiffened his spine as a faint orange glow suffused his irises. Trash was far too dependent on the single-minded focus of his Dying Will for Squalo's tastes –it made him narrow and negligent of the details beyond his immediate goal– but at least he _had_ a Will. "His behaviour at the latest meeting concerned me, Squalo-san," the trash Sky said more levelly, "as it was significantly out of character."

"VOOOI! Of course it was out of character!" Squalo exploded. "You let Nono con you into using _your_ authority to gut our bottom line! Our international standing's going down the toilet, civilian Family members –like _you_ were– are going to be targeted by our enemies and the only people benefitting from your fucking _shitty_ orders are hitmen like your tutor, who get to pad out their wallets due to an increased demand for their services as they leave all manner of additional casualties along the way because unlike assassins, hitmen don't give a _shit_ about collateral damage and innocents getting caught up in their kill! People are going to _die_ because they were in the wrong damned place at the wrong damned time, taken out by hitmen who couldn't be arsed to wait to catch their target alone! Because who cares about the _collateral damage_ , they're paid to make a splash not to be discreet! _Kids_ are going to die! Like my older brother died, you dickhead!" Squalo cut himself off before he gave away any more personal details, drawing in a sharp breath and trying to compose himself a little.

Chew Toy had gone a lovely shade of pale, his pupils shocked pinpricks as he wrung his hands silently.

"And don't give me that garbage about 'caring' because you sure as shit do _not_ ," Squalo continued venomously, moderating his volume as he lined up what else he wanted to say; if this was his only opportunity to vent then he wanted to make the most of it. "If you cared you'd have put more thought into it beforehand, asked around more experienced people about what the likely consequences of this or that course of action would be. Not just the consequences for _you_ , but for the entire Family, the rest of the Alliance and the Allies and wider Underworld as well. But no, you don't give a _shit_ about anybody who's not one of your precious 'friends' and it's fucking obvious to anyone with eyes. Like how you never bothered to mention that your little plan during the Arcobaleno Battles was about buying time rather than actually defeating anybody, because if you'd actually _said_ that then we could have bought time _safely_ rather than getting shoved into a glorified sacrifice play, where the only people who got hospitalised were the allies who'd scared you shitless in a fight at some point!"

Chew Toy gaped in shock but Squalo wasn't anywhere near done yet.

"If Mammon had been any less audacious, determined and outrageously _brilliant_ I'd have _died_ , you shit," he bit out, "you all but _murdered_ me when I'm Right Hand to the Varia Head, sworn to obey _you_ as Vongola Heir! I led the Varia faithfully for eight years, protecting the Family and serving its interests in _everything_ and this is the thanks I get? Thrown at the Vindice so your precious _friends_ don't risk getting hurt, because I _have_ to obey you and they _don't_? Yeah I lived –no thanks to you, trash– but that's all on Mammon and Varia Medical, which guess what? Won't be doing so many miracles anymore, because you've slashed their budget with your snivelling short-sightedness. More of _our_ people are going to die, just so _you_ can feel better about the people under your command doing a little less commissioned murder."

There was a miserable breathy squeak from Chew Toy, who was now looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

"People who come to the Varia have _already_ decided that the death of their target is the only solution to their problem," Squalo continued relentlessly, "so our turning them away isn't going to make them change their minds. They're just going to look for somebody else to do the job, or if they're desperate do the deed themselves. How many battered wives do you think are going to end up in the newspapers for murdering their husbands? How many kids dumped in foster care or on gold-digging or indifferent relatives? How many could-have-been assassinations are going to turn into murder-suicides, or mass poisonings because terrified amateurs don't know shit about dosage? That's all on _you_ , trash."

Another pained squeak.

"You're not a kid anymore; you're in line to lead the Underworld's most influential Family so _everything_ you do and say has far-reaching consequences. You may not _like_ it but you've been placed in power by virtue of your birth so you have the fucking _responsibility_ and _duty_ to everybody under your authority to use that power wisely. Which means doing your research _first_ and finding shit out before you throw your weight around, and telling people 'no' when they try to use you for their own petty agendas." Squalo took another sharp breath. "Morals are all very well but they don't mean _shit_ if you don't recognise that a lot of people don't have them and that you've got to appeal to their baser nature to get them to do what you want. Assassination isn't the _cause_ of the Underworld's problems; it's a symptom. If you want to put the professional killers out of work you've got to attack the problem at its root." And that was all the advice he could be bothered to give right now; God but he was tired.

"You hate me, don't you?" Chew Toy quavered plaintively.

"Obviously," Squalo drawled sarcastically. "Leaving aside the murder thing, you recently slashed my annual income by a third while reducing my job security and medical support, then did the same to all my subordinates. Who, by the way, know _exactly_ who is to blame for their suddenly being on starvation wages, because at no point was Boss ordered to keep anything confidential and a copy of his orders ended up in the hands of my Squad Leaders. Some of whom have families they are trying to support and are now having to consider supplementary sources of income; so much for Primo's values." Boss might have a plan for this year, but next year wasn't all that far off and things would get really difficult then; Mammon hadn't been lying about how rough it could become.

Chew Toy curled in on himself, gaze blank as his Flames spiked erratically with horror, terror, hurt and confusion. Squalo rolled his eyes and turned his back; who gave a shit, seriously.

"Wasn't that a little rude?" Dino asked mildly. Which was all but endorsing the reality check Squalo had just delivered, since he hadn't said 'wasn't that a little harsh.'

"I was honest," Squalo replied coolly, "and it would only be rude if I went into detail of all the ways he's abjectly failing. Which I'm not going to do; mauling chew toys once they've stopped squeaking lacks any kind of entertainment value." With that he turned towards the door and walked out of the room.

Boss had left for France this morning, but Springer might be around and if so, a good long spar would do the brat good. If not, the mooks could always do with a bit of terrorizing.

* * *

Xanxus had arranged for him and Florrie to spend three nights in Foix, four nights in Bagnères-de-Bigorre and another three nights in Pau. After their last night in Pau he'd drive his Cloud to the airport in Lourdes, then get picked up in the evening by the Varia plane on its way back from Greenland. Mammon had grumbled a bit about that, but the detour was practical –he'd be joined by another Squad at the airport rather than them taking the train then the ferry back to Sicily– and it meant he and his bike would both be back at the Varia for the following morning, so he could get stuck into the paperwork that would have piled up in his absence.

Not piling up all that quickly since summer was slow, but after a ten-day absence there'd be quite a bit in need of signing off.

Florrie had come up with a list of places within driving distance she fancied visiting, some of which he'd expected and others he hadn't but still looked interesting. He'd never even heard of the Caves of Gargas until she'd mentioned them, for instance, but her interest in Toulouse, Oloron-Sainte-Marie and Tarbes had been expected and there were lots of pretty views to drive or walk through, as well as a range of castles and little villages.

All in all Xanxus was sure they'd have plenty of fun together, even if it did end up raining more than half the time like it was threatening to. If the weather was really _that_ bad then they'd walk around museums and lounge in the hotel, watching television; the whole point of the holiday was to spend time together, after all.

Xanxus was also planning on sharing his plans for his now-very-likely retirement and seeing what his friend thought, as well as seeing if she had any interesting ideas he could appropriate. Florrie came at things from a completely different angle to what he was used to, so her ideas were often interesting and creative, even when they weren't practical. Lack of practicality didn't make them useless though; he'd tweaked various things to account for her perspective since meeting her and the modifications had always made things better.

* * *

The first day in Foix Xanxus spent the morning watching his Cloud and friend in transports of delight over the cacti and succulents in the _Les Épines de Lespinet_ , a private botanical garden recreating a semi-arid American landscape. Rather than sketch she'd pulled out the camera he'd given her for Christmas and taken dozens –possibly even hundreds– of pictures, much to their guide's bemusement. Her avid interest in the various plants and their names –which she produced a notebook to write them all down in– however won the man over and he was soon telling her everything he knew about the various specimens, both relating to the species generally and the specific history of the individual plants, as well as the people who'd been involved in creating the garden.

After lunch in a bistro they visited the castle, which in addition to being a tenth century fortification housed a museum documenting the history of the area. Being inside a stone castle was much less hot than wandering about outside, so Xanxus didn't mind at all that Florrie pulled out her sketchbook rather than sticking to using the camera; there were plenty of places to loiter and sit in the shade and his friend's engrossed pleasure in what she was doing was intensely rewarding. He'd also suspected this might happen, so had brought a book to read.

It was a ridiculous pulp novel from an Underworld publisher, with unrealistic Flame usage and inaccurate cultural representation –along with unfeasible travel times– but the characters were well-rounded and the dialogue was pretty sharp, so it was amusing fluff if nothing else. It was also part of a massive series, so there were more to be read later if he was in the mood. Annamaria had introduced him to the series and had all the books, so he could borrow them whenever.

The late afternoon passed equally pleasantly, Xanxus listening to his Cloud babble delightedly about the day's doings and chiming in now and then on history –he'd decided to pursue history for a university degree, with a particular focus on guilds, monastic orders and other closed social groups, including various historical cults– while sprawling on the bed with her in their hotel room. It was just nice, being able to cuddle and have the conversation meander all over the place without there being anything serious at stake. He'd missed this.

"Tomorrow's Sunday so most things will be closed," his friend said pensively after the conversation wandered to a halt, "so there's no point going to Gargas until Monday. Anything you'd like to do tomorrow?"

"Go for a drive?" Xanxus suggested; it wasn't like the scenery would be going anywhere and the weather was reasonably promising, so they could ride his motorbike.

"Do we eat out or take a picnic?"

"Picnic," Xanxus decided; it would mean they wouldn't have to find somewhere open out in some tiny village. "Will sort it out with the staff this evening." They hadn't had dinner yet after all, so he could ask around and sort something out. Being able to make Flame Ice at the drop of a hat meant he could turn any container into an impromptu cold box at no effort, so he wouldn't have to worry about things going off in the heat.

"Well that was easy," Florrie said lightly, sitting up and leaning over him so she could brush his hair back from his face; Xanxus turned into her hand and nibbled playfully on the heel of her palm, winning himself a fond smile.

"C'mere," he rumbled, tugging her down on top of him so he could kiss her properly. Her willingness to be casually intimate with him was something he was never going to stop being acutely, embarrassingly grateful for and he was prepared to make a fool of himself on a regular basis so long as it meant she knew how much he appreciated it.

* * *

"So how's things going, voi?"

Florrie's chuckle was clearly audible over the phone. "Really well, despite it absolutely tipping it down with rain for two days straight," she said warmly. "We went to Toulouse the first day it rained, then on the second one Xanxus made a few calls and got us a tour of the Lindt factory in Oloron-Sainte-Marie, since we couldn't just spend the day wandering around the town enjoying the architecture."

"How much chocolate did you walk away with?" Squalo asked, both impressed and mildly annoyed; he really doubted Xanxus was going to share _any_ of that.

His fellow Guardian giggled. "Lots," she confided gleefully. "So, so many seconds."

Meaning chocolate that failed the quality standards test due to not being absolutely perfect, but tasted excellent despite not looking good enough to sell; stuff the factory would give away for free. "You lucky shits."

"Mm-hm," Florrie agreed cheerfully, absolutely shameless; he didn't have much of a chance of scoring chocolate from her either then; he didn't much care for dark chocolate but milk was nice and Lindt always tasted excellent. "What have you been doing?"

"Enjoying the quiet, mostly," Squalo drawled, resettling himself on his office couch. "Today Chew Toy's Cloud Guardian showed up with his chief minion and snatched the brat from the Iron Fort; apparently he's been skiving off school and needs to catch up on his classes." Squalo suspected it had been sword-brat ratting out his Sky to the Hibari-brat; this stunt has Springer's fingerprints all over it. Without him and Kalk assisting –and Kalk was still spending half or more of every day in Varia Medical getting her organs replaced as they couldn't all be put in at once and there were a barrage of post-surgery tests and checks to be made as well– the stroppy Cloud could never have managed an extraction this smooth in unfamiliar territory.

"That sounds like it could have been considerably more exciting than you are making it appear," his fellow Guardian coaxed.

Squalo grinned; oh yes he was underselling the event _significantly_. "There was a helicopter chase," he informed her smugly. "We have video." Well, Information did, leading him to suspect that Springer had bribed a few bored Varia to assist him in his scheme. Entertainment had value after all and participating in the process to make the amusement happen was its own reward, so phrase it right and Varia assistance wasn't as hard to come by as it sounded.

"You _have_ to bring that the next time you visit!" Florrie demanded. "Xanxus, tell Squalo he has to bring the video!"

"What video?" Came over the phone, distant and half-distracted in a way that said their Sky was doing something technical. Fiddling with his motorbike maybe; the rain probably hadn't been good for it. The Varia's mechanics liked to bitch whenever somebody took one out and got caught in a downpour, but the specific details of why currently eluded him.

"The old fart's heir got dragged back to Japan by his Cloud Guardian and there was a _helicopter chase_ ," Florrie replied instantly. "I want to see the footage!"

There was a clank, some Russian swearing, several thuds and then Xanxus's voice came through the phone much louder and more clearly: "shark, bring it over _now_."

"I don't even know where you _are_ ," Squalo pointed out dryly, although he wasn't _entirely_ opposed to hopping on a plane and spending some time in the Pyrenees, "and I refuse to spend a day just flying thither and yon on my own dime." If he was just expected to play courier then Xanxus was paying for it.

There was a growl, a muffled mutter and the sound of Florrie answering, her voice just slightly too low for the words to be picked out. Squalo waited patiently for the murmured negotiation to finish; this was suddenly looking promising.

"We'll be in Pau from Saturday, shark," his Sky said eventually. "Get a flight and stay over for a few days. Florrie's fine with adding you to the sleeping arrangements and the Tour's coming through on Monday; plenty to see." Meaning that the Cloud was fine sharing the bed with him as well as with Xanxus and that she didn't mind him crashing the tail-end of her holiday either.

Well, why not? He'd had a few run-ins with the _Tour de France_ on missions before now, so getting to enjoy it properly would be a nice change from having to arrange abrupt detours and last-minute changes in plan because there were suddenly television cameras and helicopters everywhere. "I'll get a flight then," Squalo agreed. He could just take his go-bag with an additional change or two of civvie clothing since it was only for a few days; maybe buy his sister something nice while he was there.

"See you soon, shark."

* * *

"Xanxus?"

"Hm?" Xanxus didn't move; he didn't want to move. He was completely comfortable, sprawled under the shade of a tree just outside Orthez with Florrie half on top of him and the shark sat a few metres away against another tree. It was a lovely day, they'd just eaten lunch and he was feeling sleepy.

"You said Sky Flames had the property of Harmony," his Cloud continued, staring up at the leaves above them "so does that mean you can walk through walls?"

Well that was random. Xanxus shifted slightly so he could catch his friend's eye. "Elaborate?"

Florrie rolled over and propped herself up on his chest. "Well atomic physics says that most of an atom is empty space, like over ninety-nine percent empty space. Things just feel solid because the electrons are whizzing around so fast they seem to be everywhere at once, like a fan blade or a helicopter propeller. But harmony means that you could have all your electrons moving regularly and all the electrons of a wall moving regularly but in a different pattern, so you could walk through it with your electrons passing through the gaps in the wall's electrons. Like those military helicopters with intersecting blades."

That sounded _theoretically_ possible but– wait. _Wait_ a moment. The Flame Inversion thing Primo had invented worked on completely _Stupid_ principles that should never have worked at all, but did because Flames were applied willpower, so Zero-Point was the epitome of 'it works because I said so.' Therefore, this idea of Florrie's should also work.

"Will try it," he promised; if it did work there were dozens of amusing applications, as well as a number of extremely _interesting_ implications for bypassing Wards. After all, _everything_ was made of sub-atomic particles…

"Do or do not," the shark snarked quietly from behind them, making Xanxus roll his eyes as 'there is no try' slid through his brain in Yoda's creaky voice. No, Dying Will Flames were _not_ the Force out of the Star Wars movies, but there were some amusing similarities here and there. One of which was that confidence was key.

As Primo's ludicrous, counter-intuitive and unscientific Flame Inversion technique proved.

* * *

Xanxus had first brought up his still-tentative retirement plans in the car on the way to Toulouse on Wednesday and since then both he and Florrie had kept coming back to it.

"There's a market for everything and anything, really," his friend had said on that first day, "so really, what's more important is what you actually _want_ to be paid for doing. What feeds your soul? What gives you that warm feeling of accomplishment and makes you want to get up in the mornings? Once you know that, it's just a matter of finding your market."

It so happened that one of the things Xanxus really enjoyed about being Varia Boss was making sure everybody hauled together and seeing his people grow in skills and confidence under his care, but when he retired that wasn't going to be possible anymore so he'd had to look for other things.

He also enjoyed making guns and Box Weapons –the latter was basically a hobby by this point, like his guns were– but that wasn't really something he was comfortable commercialising in retirement; rings maybe, but Box Weapons? No. Not guns either; all his guns were unique and he wanted them in the hands of people he trusted to look after them properly, not random customers. Even people technically qualified for gun handling sometimes did Stupid shit and he'd rather not get tangled up in that; off-record transactions for one, general idiocy in weapon maintenance and handling for another –shooting out a jam!– and things like sweeping the area with a loaded weapon and so on. The Varia he trusted, they knew how very Stupid all that kind of behaviour was and were all willing to kill co-workers Stupid enough to threaten all their lives with improper gun handling. Improper gun handling like that was listed as an instigating factor in about a third of all mook deaths.

"I like fixing other people's Stupid," he told his Cloud on Friday, while they were walking around Luchon.

"What, like negotiating?" Florrie asked, not looking up from her sketchbook.

Xanxus hadn't meant it like that, but he considered the new perspective. "Maybe," he conceded, "but more like troubleshooting."

"Literal troubleshooting?" his friend asked dryly, side-eyeing him.

"Sometimes," he conceded with a smirk, "but not necessarily. Lots of Underworld shit that could be mitigated or fixed outright by out-of-the-box thinking and an appreciation of the long-term implications over short-sighted greed." So much of what made the Underworld a shitty place was a result of stupidity and self-destructive greed; it was a lot of what was wrong with the rest of the world, too. At least in the Underworld there were _some_ people capable of exercising long-term enlightened self-interest; the rest of the world was a hell of a lot larger though and the smart people were more widely spread.

"So marketing yourself as a freelance negotiator then? Sort of like a diplomat or lawyer, to represent people's interests, or to consult on prospective projects to give an idea of what kind of difficulties they might run into and likely costs?"

It was certainly an idea; people would hire him to begin with because he was the former Varia Boss and having him on board would discourage attacks and sabotage, but if he made a name for himself as being reliable and effective, then people would keep coming and he'd be able to make a living off it. Could even do some more humanitarian shit on the side if he felt like it; he'd vaguely wanted to do something like that to mess with the old fart, but putting words to it gave him a good feeling. He could do that; he could be _good_ at that and being freelance meant he didn't have to toe any particular Family line or keep his mouth shut just because he was subordinate. Well, he would still be Heir Cavallone, but that just meant not taking jobs that would actively harm his Family and he didn't want to do that anyway.

"Might try hostage retrieval too," he admitted. That included things like breaking up slaving rings and thwarting sex trafficking, because people got abducted for those kinds of things as well as for ransom. Mostly civvies and Latents, to be honest, but every now and then some complete moron decided he wanted Actives working for him but couldn't be bothered to cultivate them properly beforehand. Or decided to run experiments on Latent kids to see what would happen.

"Well it's whatever you want and have the resources for, isn't it?" Florrie pointed out, which was completely true; he could branch out later and maybe pick up a few more Varia retirees along the way. There were his Guardians to consider of course –other than Florrie who had her own plans– but Bel would enjoy both the politics of negotiation and the gore of rooting out slaving gangs, the shark liked to play dumb but he was no less capable on the negotiation side of things and Luss would probably open a clinic to satisfy his nurturing side, which would be just as profitable even if he was treating the less fortunate for free. Mammon of course would be managing their finances and making sure they _stayed_ profitable, so it could easily work out very well indeed.

By the time Squalo joined them in Pau, Xanxus's retirement plans were less 'what might happen' and solidly settled into 'this _will_ happen' and he was comfortable enough with them to start writing lists of things to check, loopholes to close and purchases to make before he handed in his notice to the old fart. The only other Varia Head to have retired was Tyrant, but that at least meant there _was_ a precedent he could follow; Squalo had technically retired from the position too, but that was murkier due to shark having stayed on as Rain Officer and stepped back up into the Head role while Xanxus was frozen.

He'd have to address his men before September started, to make sure they all knew what was coming, but that was a way off yet.

* * *

"Voi! Are you coming out to watch at all? What's the point of having a room with a balcony overlooking the course if you're just going to stare at the television?"

Xanxus rolled his eyes, but got to his feet and headed out to where his Rain and Cloud were leaning over the balcony of the hotel room, looking eagerly up the road towards where the cyclists would be coming along any minute now. The tenth stage of the _Tour de France_ was actually starting in Pau this year, so the streets down below were full of people waving flags and cheering. Despite pretending to be above that kind of excessive enthusiasm, shark had packed a Sicilian flag into his go-bag and it was now hanging along the outside of the balcony railings as the swordsman told Florrie about one of the young up-and-coming cyclists in the peloton who was from Messina and, in an amusing coincidence, nicknamed 'the shark.'

The Varia Boss had known his Rain was a sword nut, but hadn't realised until now that the enthusiasm extended to other sporting disciplines as well. Not football –thankfully– but solo sports and ones with small teams like rowing, swimming and athletics. It turned out to be an enthusiasm Florrie shared, so his two Guardians were happily geeking out together and discussing the upcoming Olympic Games in Beijing in between peering down the road in anticipation of the race start.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Xanxus glanced up and down the street –looking for cameras and determining the angle from the road– then threw up a quick Ward. Nothing fancy, just enough so that although everybody would be able to see them just fine, cameras would experience inexplicable lighting issues and be unable to focus on their faces. Getting identified by law enforcement due to appearing on international television would be embarrassing after all; anyone watching would recognise the shark by his hair, posture and uniform even _without_ being able to see his face, so Xanxus was probably going to get noticed by association –his height and feathers weren't exactly subtle– but ensuring nobody could pick Florrie out of a line-up was important.

It was possible that if they _did_ end up on camera, the old fart would have it brought to his attention, so making sure there wasn't a clear shot of his Cloud Guardian was absolutely necessary. Xanxus had already ensured Florrie's name wasn't written down in any hotel records or anywhere else that required taking names –having her traced that way would be careless– and as he wasn't flying with her, there wouldn't be any way for people to identify her even if they _did_ know which day she'd flown out of which airport. Especially since he made a point of looking different on security cameras anyway; it was a matter of principle.

That seen to, the Sky leaned over his Cloud, enjoying how she leaned back into him without so much as hesitating, her attention focused on the shark as he listed the various Italian cyclists and which teams they belonged to. Her hand found his and squeezed gently; Xanxus squeezed back, bending down to rest his chin on her shoulder and wrap his other arm around her waist. Shark didn't care that he cuddled with Florrie and she didn't care that he was fucking Squalo; he got the best of both worlds.

Well, she didn't care so long as they didn't do it in the same room –or bed– as her, which was fair enough. The bathroom was fair game though.

The volume in the street shot up and Xanxus glanced down the road in time to see the first cyclists appearing around the end of the block. In a few minutes everything would be over and they could get on with their day, but it was actually kind of fun to be part of a big crowd all doing the same thing.

Xanxus's lips twitched into a toothy grin as Florrie cheered excitedly and the shark bellowed encouragement down at the riders zooming past. Yeah, this was fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

"Did you have a nice holiday, sempai?"

Squalo rolled his eyes at his student. "Voi, that wasn't a holiday," he replied shortly in English, not elaborating further; his actual holiday was next month, taking his sister to Canada. "Have fun setting Hibari on Chew Toy?" No point not using the Varia nickname now Springer was hanging around Headquarters in his off-time; sword-brat was bound to have heard it being used, so he didn't have to keep checking himself anymore.

Springer laughed, but did not admit to anything; smart brat. "I had a few questions about the CEDEF," was what he teenager actually said, sticking to the same language.

"Sit down." Squalo waved at the couch, setting his paperwork aside and moving around the desk to put the kettle on and set up a teapot and pair of cups before settling on the other, more comfortable chair facing his student.

"So?" He asked.

Springer rubbed his neck, his facial expression one of honest fatigue rather than the habitual sheepish mask; progress there, since brat felt comfortable enough around Squalo to let his real self show.

"I already knew Tsuna and Sawada-san weren't close," his student began, telling Squalo exactly what the issue was, "but I thought it was just Sawada-san working abroad and not being able to share details due to the mafia thing. But I've never seen Sawada-san at the Iron Fort unless it's for a meeting with Don Vongola, so I asked Tsuna if his dad ever came over for non-work things and he just looked baffled. Like he wasn't even _expecting_ his dad to visit despite him working barely half an hour away and being in the Iron Fort about once a fortnight."

That often? Interesting; The External Advisor was supposed to be _external_ , so that many meeting was fairly suspicious; he'd put somebody on it.

"I mean, I knew it was four years since Tsuna saw his dad when he showed up at the Ring Battles," Springer continued, "but I hadn't realised that Sawada-san barely visited at all even before that."

Brat was genuinely upset; well he would be when he had such a strong relationship with his own father, so couldn't really conceive of _not_ having that kind of emotional support or of a parent not being as interested and invested in their child's wellbeing as his father was.

Well, there was really only one viable angle here. "Neither of your Sky's parents are what I'd call mentally sound," Squalo said bluntly, getting up to take the kettle off the heat, pour the hot water over the tea leaves then setting it aside so as to dig about in his files for the specifics. "Iemitsu has a narcissistic personality disorder while Nana is delusional and possibly afflicted with atypical depression; we've known about Iemitsu for years but Nana's only been on the radar for a little while and we can't exactly get close enough to diagnose properly, so we may have missed something." Finding the folder, he tossed it at his student's head. "Here, have a read; let me know if you need help with the technical language." It was written in Italian, but medical jargon was a dialect in itself. Psych reports were at least more readable than medical reports; fewer acronyms for one.

Brat settled in to read; Squalo poured them both tea and sat down again to wait. Looking into Nana's mental health had kicked off during the Ring Battles in response to the woman's disturbingly blasé response to the cow brat getting incapacitated by Levi –regardless of her being lied to over the source of the injury, her disinterest in how the accident had come to pass and cheerful lack of concern for the five-year-old had rang a lot of alarm bells– and continued in the background through the brats' Bazooka-induced absence.

The overall conclusion was that emotionally speaking, Nana had several serious cognitive distortions, wasn't parenting her child at all and hadn't since Chew Toy was a preschooler; Squalo suspected a potential connection to Don Vongola sealing Chew Toy's Flames back when he was Latent. No, it _shouldn't_ have made a difference, but Chew Toy had been reported as horrendously clumsy, spineless and performing badly throughout his academic career so clearly he'd been less entirely Latent as a child than he had appeared to be and since Flames were spiritual, it was entirely possible that having them sealed had severed his natural bond to his mother.

Iemitsu's fault that; if he'd been around his son at _all_ before then to notice, the man would probably have picked up on the behaviour and other signs that indicated the brat was on his way to Activating naturally –as Iemitsu himself had probably done and all the Vongola boys had too– and would have known that he'd missed the boat for sealing. He wouldn't have been able to hide that from Nono, which would probably have resulted in the External Advisor moving his spouse and child to Sicily and integrating them into the Family so that Chew Toy could be trained and protected as befitting a baby Sky.

That hadn't happened though, so Chew Toy had been spiritually incapacitated and emotionally orphaned by the sealing process, then left with his equally bereaved mother without either of them having any support or understanding of what had been done to them. The result of which was that well-intentioned or not, the sealing had been a complete disaster. Chew Toy had come out the other side completely unsuitable for the Don position, for starters. In desperate need of at least a decade of therapy and a thorough adjustment of his self-image and expectations, for another; nothing the Varia could do about either however.

Chew Toy had to _recognise_ he had issues to rival Boss's if he was going to do anything about them.

"Did Nana even enrol the kids into school?" Squalo asked, abruptly realising that he didn't actually know if the cow-brat was in education.

"Fuuta enrolled himself a bit before the misunderstanding with the Shimon," his student said absently, "and enrolled Lambo too. Well, he had Nana-san sign the paperwork, but he filled it in. I-Pin had Fon do hers right after the fake-future mess; she's keeping Lambo in line so he doesn't make a fuss in public."

Well that was something; Ranking Fuuta had clearly noticed that the 'responsible adults' in Chew Toy's corner were anything but, so had resorted to dealing with matters himself. As expected from an Underworld orphan who'd been running around on his own for a few years, but still disappointing. Reborn not even bothering to ensure one of his student's Guardians got a basic education? That was pathetic. How would the Bovino brat ever amount to anything but a sacrificial calf if he wasn't trained up and provided with a bit of discipline?

"Poison Scorpion still freeloading?"

"She's working part-time at a florist; has been since before the Ring Battles," Springer replied easily without looking up, forehead furrowing as he turned a page of the psych report. "Taught me a bit of Italian flower language in exchange for hanakotoba and ikebana principles, along with the Vongola flower code."

Springer knew meadow code? That was impressive; it used only those plants endemic to Sicily –plus a few visually striking imports– and had been created by the First Generation as a means of covert communication among the largely-illiterate peasantry that had made up the Vongola back then. Nobody would look askance at a day labourer picking a bunch of wildflowers to take home for his wife, sister or daughter, or a child drawing a flower on the side of a house in chalk, so it had been a highly effective communication method. Everybody had used it –the details got passed down orally even now– and the paintings of various past Dons and Guardians had amusing messages hidden in the vases of flowers in the background.

The Varia used it too, but had a modified version since quite a few of Sicily's endemic species didn't grow elsewhere in Europe and there'd been a need for new terminology during the war. Squalo knew both codes, but didn't use either all that much; they'd rather fallen out of common usage with the rise of literacy in the sixties and seventies.

"Should use the code when visiting," the Rain Officer suggested. "Get you in people's good books, bringing them appropriate flowers." They could add subtext to the most innocuous discussion and indicated a willingness to integrate into the Family that Chew Toy and Smokescreen were unlikely to ever bother matching. Did they even know that meadow code existed?

His student hummed, sipped his tea –reminding Squalo to do likewise– and actually looked up from his reading. "Speaking of good books, sempai, why is it everybody's more respectful and willing to talk when it's me or Chrome visiting them rather than Gokudera?"

"Voi, the two of you are polite and actually listen," Squalo dismissed, not even hinting at the real reason –Springer and Kalk were Right and Left Hand while Smokescreen was a jumped-up self-important nobody with assumptions of relevance– and drank some more of his tea. His student's facial expression made it clear he didn't buy that explanation in the slightest, but he didn't ask again.

Probably subconsciously knew the answer already and didn't want to face up to it; Rains could be like that sometimes, as Squalo knew from personal experience. It was occasionally easier to ignore things than to face up to them, as facing them meant having to then deal with the consequences; if you ignored them, they might yet go away without your input. You did get lucky like that sometimes.

This however wasn't something that would go away; it was at least something that would keep though, so it wouldn't do any harm for Springer to let it lie for a few more weeks or months.

"Sempai, are there any basic psychology texts in the Varia library?" So his student wanted to do some background reading? Good on him; might prompt him to notice the plethora of issues afflicting his Sky and fellow Guardians.

"Plenty," the Rain Officer drawled. "Would you like them in Italian or English?" They had some in Japanese too, but that wouldn't help his student improve his language skills.

"Italian, please." Which made sense, since the document he was reading was in Italian.

"I'll have them sent over." Springer still wasn't good enough at spotting traps to be given free access to the Varia library, but he was at least managing to get to Squalo's office without mishap so he clearly wasn't hopeless.

* * *

Xanxus stared thoughtfully at the pretty printed card inviting him to the Cavallone Mansion for mid-morning coffee; this was oddly formal for a social thing, all things considered. That implied it was something horse was feeling very awkward about, since formality meant having scripts and scripts let you gloss over the awkward. If horse was feeling awkward but pushing through regardless, then Xanxus should probably go visit; it implied it was something important. Probably either an Heir thing or a private Family thing; maybe horse had finally got himself a sweetheart and wanted Xanxus to run a discreet background check? That would fit.

He'd accepted the invite right off –it wasn't like he had anything else on this week– so all he had to do was head down on his motorbike; he couldn't take the shark because Squalo was in Canada with his little sister, visiting civvie relatives, and his other Guardians were all doing holiday shit too. Besides, the invitation made it clear this was a personal matter –horse had signed it 'Dino' rather than 'Don Cavallone'– so going without Guardians would be fine.

He was more than a little curious what had prompted this though. He knew horse got embarrassed about things –it made his little brother very easy to tease– but this seemed more than just embarrassment getting in the way.

Well he'd just have to get down there and find out.

* * *

Dino, it turned out, was feeling _exceedingly_ awkward about whatever-it-was that had prompted him to invite Xanxus over for coffee, to the point of fidgeting as the drinks were served and conspicuously failing to make coherent small-talk. Xanxus graciously ignored all pitiful and nonsensical attempts; depending on what the actual issue was, he might bring them up later to tease his little brother with. Seriously, asking how his Box Animals were doing and commenting on the weather? Had horse's brains been turned to mashed potato?

"So what's the problem?" the Varia Boss asked once the staff were all well out of earshot and it was just the two of them in the cool, north-facing study.

Horse wilted. "Sorry, Xanxus."

"S'fine, just tell me why you're awkward as a new foal."

Dino ducked his head and snorted wryly. "You know, Uncle Dario says that about me too," he murmured under his breath before looking up again. "But really Xanxus, I _am_ sorry." He took a breath. "About the Vindice thing."

Oh. Yes. That.

"I should have paid more attention during the Ring Battles and looked beyond the obvious," his brother blurted out, the words almost tumbling over each-other, "and taunting you about it was incredibly insensitive when you had clear and valid concerns, we should have asked for your input rather than just goading you into agreeing with such a slipshod scheme, I'm _so_ sorry!"

Xanxus stared levelly at his sibling. "Is this because we're related, horse?" If that was the only reason he was getting an apology then stuff it, seriously.

Dino cringed. "Er, no?" he dropped his eyes to the table. "I mean, I didn't even _think_ about it until Squalo tore a strip off Tsuna in front of me and I realised what that fight nearly cost you." He glanced up for eye-contact. "I'd like to think I'd have apologised regardless, but knowing you're my brother makes me feel worse about it."

Well that was honest at least. "You need Guardians, horse," Xanxus said quietly. If Don Cavallone had _understood_ what it meant to be a bonded Sky he'd have realised what nearly losing Squalo had done to the Varia Boss _long_ before this.

"How am I supposed to find them, Xanxus?" Horse sounded tired and sad; clearly wasn't aware of his own bonding conditions, or at least not enough to consciously go looking for what he wanted. Expecting Guardians to just fall into your lap didn't work; it happened on occasion, but generally you had to go looking –their bonding conditions might even involve a Sky making an effort to reach out– and sometimes even if both sides were willing, it could still take time for a proper bond to form.

His idiot baby brother wanted people who wouldn't just do as they were told because he was Don Cavallone and had said so; he wanted strong, capable people who'd call him out on his Dumb and do their own thing without expecting him to run their lives. Friends and peers, not subordinates; no wonder he'd caught horse making eyes at the shark a time or two.

Xanxus was going to drag his thick-headed younger sibling along to some Superbi events and throw the horse to the wolves, lions and bears, oh my; all the other animals too. It would do him good. "Trust me?" He asked a little tauntingly.

The wary look horse gave him said that no, Dino very sensibly did _not_ trust him. Well, didn't trust him not to tease, at least; horse's Flames made it clear he trusted Xanxus with his life if not his dignity. "You're going to make me regret this, aren't you?" Don Cavallone said ruefully.

Of course he was; that was what brothers _did_. However horse would have Guardians by the end of it, which was what mattered. "Want Guardians or not?" He demanded provocatively.

Horse chuckled sadly a pang going through his Flames. "Yes. I'll play."

"Good," Xanxus said firmly; "We're going out tomorrow; no retinue, just you and me." He didn't have anything else to be doing and his aunt _had_ said he was welcome on Superbi grounds any time he liked.

"Okay Xanxus." That was meek.

"You're forgiven," Xanxus added shortly; he mostly blamed himself for rising to the bait back then anyway. He shouldn't have let horse get a rise out of him like that, sore point or not.

"Thank you." Horse didn't bother with verbose gratitude, which was a relief; instead they sipped their coffee together in relatively comfortable silence.

Xanxus was still going to introduce Dino to as many of his more headstrong Superbi cousins as he possibly could over the next few days, while making it clear that Don Cavallone was in the market for a full set of Guardians and wanted to bond with people willing to call him out on his shit. No way they wouldn't rise to _that_ bait; it might even turn into a competition.

That would be even funnier.

* * *

It being August, most of the Superbi still in the country had either turned nocturnal or were spending half the day at the beach; some were doing both. By day three of Xanxus's 'throw relatives at horse and see who sticks' campaign, his maternal family had caught on and were making it easier for him by all hanging out more or less together, be it at the beach or in the lower –and cooler– levels of the Superbi Hall, so they could all spend a bit of time with Dino and chat in between doing whatever else they were filling their free time with.

Interestingly enough, horse's infamous clumsiness was nowhere in evidence so long as Xanxus was within about fifteen metres of his little brother, so the Varia Boss settled himself with a drink and watched as his relatives drifted in and out of contact with the Don Cavallone, some of them keeping their distance and others pressing in curiously, all attentive and paying attention to every word and gesture.

"Some people would call this cruel, you know," Stambecco said mildly from his perch on a bookshelf behind Xanxus.

The Varia Boss rolled his eyes at his youngest brother's comment. "Had it coming," the Sky said shortly; Stambecco was newly seventeen and the only one of the late Nono Cavallone's Superbi by-blows that Dino could feasibly have sued for custody of. Horse hadn't, but Hirola Superbi had still arranged for her oldest son to spend half his school holidays in Sicily with his Cavallone relatives. Stambecco was mostly taking advantage to get to know the other Superbi his age –he'd been raised in France where his mother and stepfather worked– and horse was letting him, so everything was pretty amicable. Kid was a Lightning, which made things interesting: Xanxus had never actually met a non-brainwashed Underworld Lightning before so having one for a sibling was proving educational.

The Rocca kid had also turned out to be Cavallone –and technically Valeria's rather than Clodia's– so horse had got in touch with her family on the subject of gene therapy, but Dino was letting her legal parents dictate what the fifteen-year-old knew and thus far they'd elected to not tell her she was Cavallone. Xanxus had already resolved to tell his baby sister the truth himself if they _still_ hadn't spilled the beans by the time she turned eighteen; Emilia deserved to know who she was and where she'd come from.

"Well yes," Stambecco agreed mildly, sipping tonic water through a straw, "but expecting our ditz of a brother to win over a grab-bag of Superbi without actually telling him what the stakes are is a bit much."

"If he knew he'd sabotage himself." Horse had issues and this was the most effective way to bypass them; Dino didn't want to drag anybody into his life 'against their will' so if he realised that what most Superbi looked for in a friend –or lover or Guardian or Sky– was a strong, self-motivated person with similar goals and family priorities then he'd second-guess himself. Not knowing however meant horse was reacting honestly to all the nosy, headstrong people prodding at him, giving them the opportunity to decide for themselves whether or not they liked him enough to try and make things work.

"Self-sacrificing?" Dingo asked, walking over and offering Xanxus a cold can of beer.

The Varia Boss accepted it, levering up the ring pull and pausing to let the bubbles subside. "To the point of idiocy," he agreed, pulling a face; Dingo was one of the more seriously interested ones. "Can't seem to get his head around the fact that he needs to take care of himself first, or else he can't do shit for the Family."

"That's a common failing in Skies, or so I'm told," Dingo commented, side-eyeing Xanxus teasingly. "Although you seem to have managed to get all your ducks lined up now. Finally."

Xanxus gave the irritating Storm the finger as he sipped his beer; Stambecco sniggered.

"So what does he actually _want_?" the annoying dog asked, fingers tapping out a tune on his own beer can as he stared across the room at the horse.

"People who'll laugh in his face if he tries to give them orders and tell him what a dumbass he's being," Xanxus replied calmly. "People who treat him like a person, not a don."

"So friends," Stambecco determined, feet swinging restlessly.

"Reborn has a lot to answer for," Dingo mused softly. Xanxus grunted; he was fully in agreement with that statement. Horse hadn't had friends in over a decade and that wasn't good for anybody. Xanxus hadn't exactly had friends either before Florrie wandered into his life, but he'd at least had people who were friendly; the Varia veterans had all been as amicable as the chain of command allowed for and his Guardians had all done their best too. Difficult as things had been sometimes, Xanxus had not once felt isolated by his position at the Varia. By the old fart's orders, yes; that was a different issue though.

"You'd think there'd be more Clouds sniffing around," Luscegnola commented, making Stambecco jump and then glare at her for sneaking up on them like that. Xanxus had sensed her coming, but then again he was Varia and used to sneaky Mists. Luscegnola was one of the few more distant cousins whose name he knew because shark had introduced her; she was a swordswoman and one of the Rain's occasional sparring partners. Niece to shark's first sword tutor or something; Xanxus couldn't remember the connection off the top of his head and Superbi were coy about precise degrees of relation anyways. Possibly because they didn't know either; with so many of them around the place and nobody bothering to be specific, it was likely a lot of people genuinely didn't know the details without pulling out the family trees.

"Istrice called dibs," Dingo said idly. "Sciacallo told me; it's why he's not here shit-stirring."

Istrice was Pantera's first cousin, Tigre and Renna's kid; their only child, which could partly be explained by Istrice being very overtly Cloudy from an early age and having some kind of processing disorder which made him exceedingly anti-social. Having met the twenty-year-old a few times now, Xanxus personally suspected some kind of Autistic Spectrum condition like Florrie had; his Cloud had more than a few things in common with the very prickly younger man, but was much better socialised. Being Latent –Istrice wasn't– probably helped there though.

"How did he call dibs?" Luscegnola asked, leaning in slightly.

Dingo eyed the leggy olivine Mist with exaggerated wariness; she fluttered her eyelashes at him playfully in return, playing with a loose black curl and pouting. Xanxus ignored the byplay, instead glancing around the large underground games room with more attention to Flames than before.

There was indeed only one Cloud present; Istrice was curled up inside the empty fireplace, wearing headphones and fiddling with the connected electronic device. Possibly playing a game; Xanxus couldn't tell from this angle.

It was very possible that the first horse would know of having a Cloud Guardian was Istrice moving into the Cavallone Mansion. If so, that would be very funny. Very catlike too; cats adopted people like that, even though Istrice was technically a porcupine.

"I wasn't there," Dingo said in response to Luscegnola's query, "but I heard he said that Sciacallo was to stop messing about because he –Istrice– liked Cavallone. Because he's patient and straightforward. So Sciacallo bowed out entirely and so did Crociere."

Cloud byplay was generally either shockingly violent or blink-and-you-miss-it; clearly the Superbi were well-versed enough in their instincts and sufficiently self-aware to favour the latter over the former. Amongst themselves at least; dealings with outsiders generally went very differently to what took place between family members.

"Crociere's still hanging around though, so I think he's waiting to see if Istrice loses interest or if their Territory concepts are compatible enough for sharing without significant overlap," Dingo continued, "but Sciacallo's wandered off entirely so I'm not sure he was interested at all, except as an opportunity to raise hell."

"It's _Sciacallo_ ," Stambecco pointed out, rolling his eyes. "Pretty sure his Territory is annoying people."

There was a round of snorts and snickers; Xanxus hadn't seen much of the cousin in question just yet, but what he _had_ seen –and heard– implied that Sciacallo was a shit-stirrer of the highest order, as well as extremely good at picking up on all the things you didn't want anybody to find out.

Dingo finished his drink and headed back over to the knot of Superbi surrounding horse, Luscegnola wandered off towards somebody whose name Xanxus didn't think he'd ever been told –he'd gone from having no cousins at all to way too many– and Stambecco subsided into silence, so Xanxus went back to watching the show. There was a lot more going on than was immediately apparent and the nuances were interesting.

* * *

August slowly crawled towards a close and preparations for September kicked off, as usual; the official reductions meant people might have the benefit of breathing room between missions this year, so while preparations were in full swing and going well –no different from if there were no reductions, mostly thanks to creative bookkeeping– he knew this September would be different.

It'd be his last crazy social month at the Varia for one and he was going to miss the madness; he needed to announce his retirement to his crazies in the next few days. August was still warm enough that a person could melt just standing outside, but the last week of the month was the one time of the year –other than Quiet Week– where just about every last Varia assassin was in the building, all of them doing their own preparations for September's upcoming mission flood.

Better to announce what would be happening –and why– to the Varia beforehand than to let rumours spread and mutate into some conspiracy or other, in case one of his crazies got the idea to do something drastic about whatever rumour they'd heard.

He _really_ didn't want to leave the Varia.

He wasn't sure how but the crazies had grown on him and despite the occasional bad times he had loved being here, being part of the Varia.

He also knew that no matter what he wanted he couldn't stay; Nono would punish his men to get at him and his crazies didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire of whatever else the old fart would throw at him, just because Xanxus refused to let himself be manipulated anymore.

He'd done what he could so that they'd be fine after he left, could get by just as well without him, but he intended to make sure they knew where to find him. He wasn't going to abandon them wholesale like that but unfortunately he really couldn't retire locally like a lot of other Varia had done. Hell, he couldn't even retire to the Superbi or Cavallone either, if for different reasons.

Fuck, he really _didn't_ want to do this, but it was almost time to tell them about it. They deserved to hear it from him directly rather than have to read it from a memo or some other cop-out.

* * *

The entire Varia being in the same building happened a few times a year; everybody being in the same _room_ only happened after emergency summons or if Boss decided to make a formal announcement. There hadn't been any of either for over three years –the last one had been when Boss came back– so there was quite a bit of speculation on why it was happening now.

Quite a few not-so-discreet murmurs were suggesting it had something to do with the shitty orders Nono Vongola had given Boss, and possibly relating to the many other recent instances of the Don's dickish behaviour. Like the Easter thing, or the man acting like Boss wanting to know who his actual blood relatives were was a betrayal. It wasn't like any of that was much of a secret.

Maínomai, being Mist Officer, knew a bit more about what was probably going to get said than most, but less than Boss's Guardians were doubtless aware of; the only person present who was guaranteed to _not_ get surprised by Boss's upcoming speech was Mammon. Boss seemed to get a kick out of surprising Captain in public and making the swordsman twitch, but Mammon always knew what was going on.

Walking up onto the makeshift stage so that everybody could see him, Boss glared at the assembled assassins and flared his Flames, making everybody quiet down instantly.

"I'm retiring," he said bluntly, then flared his Flames again, much more aggressively, to silence the immediate outcry. "Shut up trash and let me finish," he growled, fingering his guns as everybody subsided into resentful attentiveness. "The shit orders from Don Vongola are specifically _my_ orders, so my retiring means the Varia can ignore them and Nono will hopefully stop penalising you lot because he's pissed at me personally. I'm not leaving until the end of December, so by then there'll be solid evidence of how useless, shitty and damaging to the Family the orders are and they hopefully won't be reinstated."

Maínomai felt Boss was maybe being a leetle optimistic there, but was disinclined to call the Sky out on that. He was retiring early and clearly didn't want to, but doing so anyway because he felt staying would harm the Varia. His wanting to feel positive about having to leave was understandable.

"I'm moving to Mafia Land," Boss continued, "because Don Vongola's made it clear he _won't_ leave me alone to get on with my own life unless I'm well out of reach. Staying in Alliance Territory would mean getting dragged into his shit and staying in Cavallone Territory would lead to Vongola Nono putting pressure on Cavallone Decimo to cough me up, likely to the detriment of our Family, so I need to be somewhere public and neutral which the Vongola has limited access to. Hence, Mafia Land." He paused briefly.

Maínomai knew there was a lot not getting said there, manipulation and abuse and lies that Don Vongola had committed against Boss that he refused to speak of if he could help it, but all the veterans knew about those anyway. It wasn't like Nono was discreet about his behaviour, or like the family tree listing Boss's actual heritage wasn't in his file for everybody to see for themselves if they ever felt the need to look.

"I don't mind any of you lot visiting me," Boss continued, tone warming slightly, "I do want to know how you're all doing after all; just be discreet please and mind the chain of command. I don't want the old fart getting paranoid about who I'm socialising with and trying to ban you from seeing me." He paused again, this time to let the outraged mutters die away in their own time. "I know you could get around it, but I'd rather that kind of thing not come down in the first place so have a little care, hm?" A hint of smirk. "Seriously, do visit; I want to know what my crazies are getting up to without me."

Boss thought of them as _his_ crazies? Seriously? Maínomai couldn't help beaming, bouncing happily on his toes as the Sky continued his address:

"Of course it's not just me leaving; Captain, Belphegor, Lussuria and Mammon will be accompanying me, being my Guardians. Captain and Belphegor have already made it clear they will be retiring at the same time I do, while Mammon and Lussuria will both be staying on a little longer, to train up their respective replacements. Therefore, as of the New Year, Maínomai will be senior Officer and nominal leader of the Varia."

What?! Him?! Maínomai gaped; Boss was putting _him_ in charge of the Varia?! Boss thought he had what it took to lead the Varia?!

Pýř elbowed him discreetly in the ribs; Maínomai quickly closed his mouth and tried to look like this wasn't all a complete shock. In retrospect it made complete sense and he should have been expecting it –he was a veteran of many more years' experience than Sumu despite having been an Officer for less time and his lack of Alliance connections would make him less of a political threat than Don Scarlatti's daughter would be– but he hadn't thought about it so it had come as a surprise.

Boss was still talking –something about timing and intentions and not informing Don Vongola until later– but Maínomai's head was still spinning from the revelation of his upcoming promotion and he was panicking slightly about all the associated responsibilities.

Pýř would tell him what he'd missed later, as would Raas.

Boss _really_ thought he had what it took to lead the Varia? Maínomai really, _really_ hadn't expected _that_.

* * *

September was usually a blur of exhaustion punctuated by moments of insanity, but due to Nono's Stupid mission caps, this year the workload was merely hectic. Not slow enough that anybody had any free time worth mentioning, but nowhere near as mad at it usually was. Which was nice in some ways –lower chances of death while sleep-deprived for one– but mostly it was infuriating; it wasn't quieter because nobody was hiring, but because they weren'tbeing _allowed_ to do their job.

Boss was going to retire so they could go back to doing their job after New Year, but that just made it all worse. Who did Don Vongola think he was, making Boss choose between being Varia Head and the wellbeing of his subordinates?!

Everybody was angry about Boss leaving, but September meant nobody had time to enact retribution against Nono for it. Things were however just-about steady enough that everybody had time to _plot_ retribution, as well as think about the ways Chew Toy could fuck them all up in the future once Boss had retired.

It wasn't really particularly enjoyable. Then about a week into September somebody muttered something about retiring in protest while standing in the queue for breakfast and suddenly everybody had a whole new set of options to play with. Osoi heard about it from Dicht's Squad while on the plane, travelling from the Caribbean to Iceland, where they were going to be dropped off for another run of missions there and in Norway, Denmark and the United Kingdom; the other Squad had been collected from Canada and was headed for Turkey.

"Seriously though, what's Nono going to do? Fire us?" Boya grumbled, breaking up a chocolate bar and posting a square into his mouth. "I'd rather follow Captain than stick around and find out what other shit Chew Toy's going to throw at us," the Rain continued, words slightly muffled by his chewing. "At least Captain _cares_. Only joined because I got picked up, only stayed because it pays well and the people in charge give a shit." He swallowed. "Got enough saved up to get by for a year or so and with Mammon leaving too, there's bound to be paying work to be had by then. We've got a _reputation_ ; people aren't just going to stop wanting people murdered because the Vongola's limiting Varia opportunities to do so."

"Boss cares," Here said quietly. "S'why he's leaving; knows that's the only way to get Nono to back off a bit. I'd still rather follow him than stay Varia though; Don Vongola is not a leader worthy of respect and Chew Toy…" the Cloud looked like he wanted to spit, but didn't quite dare do so inside the plane cabin. "Boss is who I swore to follow and I do not see why that should change. It's not like I'm Alliance, after all."

"Most of us aren't," Boya agreed, flicking a square of chocolate at his Squad Leader, who very tellingly was not ordering them to shut up and stop talking sedition. "And those of us who are, well… Boss is Superbi as well as Cavallone, so it's not like anybody's _leaving_ -leaving, is it? Just changing up our chain of command slightly."

"So Boss is actually at the top," Osoi clarified. Politics meant they probably wouldn't be able to carry on taking assassination missions like nothing had happened, but it wasn't like he'd joined the Varia because he longed for a career in homicide; he'd joined because it paid well, challenged him and between the lines of the contract there'd been the offer of a home. Which he'd seized with both hands and wasn't about to let go of just because Nono Vongola and his successor were cowardly scum.

"Get some sleep," Curare interrupted, twisting so as to glare at everybody indiscriminately. "We're landing in less than five hours and the mission's immediately after that, so rest while you can."

"Yes sir!" Stomp chirped, pulling on his headphones and closing his eyes; Osoi produced his earplugs from an inside pocket and followed suit; as his Squad Leader had pointed out, they had to be ready to work as soon as they landed. Varia Quality should mean something after all, regardless of Don Vongola doing his best to sabotage it.

* * *

There was no milk in the fridge. Why was there no milk in the fridge? This was an inhabited safe-house; there _should_ be milk in the fridge. Osoi glared blearily at the woefully bare shelves before closing the door firmly and trying to think. He couldn't start coffee if there wasn't any milk; an espresso was for elevensies or mid-afternoon, not first thing in the morning.

Wait, this was an inhabited safe-house; the live-in person would have milk in _their_ fridge and him taking it would serve them right for not keeping up with their duties.

Stepping quietly into the hallway, he walked across to the door of the ground-floor flat, gently picked the lock –he was a Storm so using Flames on it would mean dissolving it and that was something he _would_ get in trouble for– and left the door hanging open as he crossed the room and opened the fridge door. Oh look, milk. And cream too; nice.

The background plumbing noises changed slightly as he moved a half-full milk carton, an open pot of cream and a packet of soft fruit out onto the counter. He was just reaching in for the box of eggs –scrambled sounded nice, even if there wasn't any bread– when there was a click of a door opening and the sound of bare feet on parquet behind him. Then a choked gasp.

Turning quickly, Osoi found himself face-to-face with a woman about his age wearing a yukata like a dressing gown with her hair hidden in a wrapped-up towel, her eyes wide and terrified as a wash of unfocused Flames prickled over the back of his tongue.

Then there was a purple flash and a big black cat-thing was filling the space between them –proportions all wrong for a panther– and instantly threw itself at his throat with a yowl.

* * *

Xanxus was in Bulgaria, sitting in a sniper nest with a thermos of milky coffee at his elbow and eating a _banitsa_ as Kēkē took a turn on the scope, when he felt a sudden hard tug on his Flames. The Varia Boss experienced about half a second of pure bafflement before realisation dawned and all his blood turned to ice water; dropping his breakfast, Xanxus fished frantically for his phone –ignoring the concerned side-eyeing from the other assassins present– found it, brought up his Cloud's Name on the screen and hesitated, carefully sliding the thermos further to one side so he had more room to manoeuvre.

If Florrie _was_ in trouble, calling her instantly was probably not a good idea; he might distract her and distractions could be fatal.

Except it was twenty past nine in the morning here, so it would be twenty past seven where she was, and she usually hadn't even left the _house_ by then. The building was Warded against home invasions so that was out; had she headed out to the shops for milk first thing and been mugged? Had something caught fire or exploded or collapsed?

He dithered for an entire agonising minute before deciding that by now she should be clear of whatever it was that had prompted her to call on Gwyn. A minute was longer than most people realised; more than enough time to end a fight or make an escape. Pressing the call button, he settled back against the wall of the barn and tried to get his shoulders to unknot.

She picked up fairly quickly, so that was something.

"What do you want?"

Her voice caught halfway through that very blunt address, and there was an audible undercurrent of tears and strain. Xanxus opened his mouth, swiftly discarded 'are you alright' as Dumb and settled on, "are you hurt?"

"No," his Cloud replied shortly, tone still wobbling on the edge of tears. There was a rumble in the background that could tentatively be labelled a purr, so Gwyn was definitely present and being comforting. That was something.

"What happened?"

A sniff. "I got out of the shower," Florrie said, voice strained, "and there was an _assassin_ raiding my _fridge_."

Oh. Shit. That made it kind-of his fault because the Varia were his responsibility, but he also really wanted to know which _Stupid_ idiot had thought it was a good idea to invade a Cloud's Territory and steal their food. Invade their Boss's _Cloud Guardian's_ Territory and steal _her_ food, even. "Is he dead?" Because if so, good riddance.

"I don't know," Florrie enunciated, voice rising, "and I do not _care_. He was in my _kitchen_ and he _broke in_ and I was _in_ _the shower_!" She cut off her words there, but Xanxus could hear the uneven hitches in her breathing and rather wanted to shoot somebody over them.

Any one of those things would have been grounds for a violent reaction even if Florrie _hadn't_ been a Cloud, but her being even more defensive of socially acceptable boundaries than the average civvie and _knowing_ that the person stealing from her fridge was a professional killer…

"Do you feel safe now?" He asked instead, because that was the most important issue at this moment.

There was a long pause, punctuated by loud, unsteady breaths and muffled rumbling. Xanxus made an effort not to call Wrath around his hands; that would kill his phone. "Gwyn is about chest-high right now," his best friend managed eventually, "and she dragged him out and I locked the door once she got back in, but I _know_ it was locked before so that doesn't really help. Getting dressed _will_ help, I think. Gwyn being here and so big helps, but I don't know how long that will last." Another pause. "I don't really want to go to classes today, Xanxus." Her voice was so small and wobbly admitting that weakness that Xanxus desperately wished he was there to hug her.

"Then don't go," he replied instantly, making an effort to gentle his own tone and keep his anger out of her hearing. "Call your tutor and say there's been a break-in and you're tidying up." It was half-true and a perfectly acceptable excuse; home invasion aftermath was messy and stressful and nobody expected you to be at your best while you recovered.

"Okay." A steadier breath. "I can do that."

"Get dressed first," Xanxus reminded her gently, "and then make yourself something nice for breakfast. You're probably a bit shocky still." If she hadn't had Gwyn she'd have gone Active, which said she'd seriously feared for her life and more importantly hadn't wanted to die in that split-second before the Box Weapon emerged.

"I will." Xanxus suspected she'd also completely break down in tears as the shock faded, but for now she was managing to stay coherent.

"I'm going to sort things out from my end," he promised –make calls and find out which Squad was in Britain so he could chew out the Squad Leader responsible for whichever moron had broken into _his_ Cloud's home– "and get over there as soon as I can."

"Xanxus you don't–"

"I _want_ to," he interrupted her firmly, "please?" He needed to see her with his own eyes and hug her and reassure himself that she really _was_ okay. Knowing he couldn't feasibly leave this nest unless he resorted to using Mist Flames was bad enough; he wasn't practiced enough with Mist-methods of instantaneous travel to do so effectively and discreetly, so he'd have to arrange a lift from some other assassin in the general area. Something to rectify later, very definitely; if anything like this happened again he wanted to be able to get there as quickly as possible. Just Gwyn alone was clearly not enough, that much was now evident and hindsight was spectacularly useless for anything except making him feel stupidly short-sighted.

"Okay." A careful breath. "I'd _like_ to see you. And for you to fix my lock so people can't walk in like that anymore. I don't mind you doing it but knowing _anyone_ could isn't, I don't–"

"I get it," he assured her softly. "I'll be there as soon as I can; today if possible. Love you." She needed to hear it.

"Thank-you. Love you too." She hung up; Xanxus followed suit, leaned back against the wall and took a steady breath, forcing his muscles to relax. He might yet incinerate the moron who'd terrified her – _slowly_ incinerate him even– but first he had to find out who it had been. Which meant calling Information for mission and itinerary details; the Varia Boss rescued his dropped _banitsa_ , nodded tersely at the understandably concerned assassins in the half-empty hayloft with him so they were reassured he wasn't going to vent his palpable fury in their direction, then hefted his phone again. Yes he _was_ angry, but he had a legitimate target he wanted to aim it at so it wouldn't do to drag other people into the crossfire.

That wasn't good leader behaviour.

* * *

Curare was dragged into wakefulness by his phone playing the Imperial March, which was _not good_ because that was Boss's ringtone and anything that involved the Head of the Varia making a personal call to his phone at… a quarter to eight in the morning halfway through September was probably going to be bad for his health in one way or another.

Not picking up would be worse though. "Yes Boss?"

"One of your cretins broke into my Cloud's kitchen to raid her fridge," Boss enunciated, anger clearly underpinning the words.

 _Shit_. Curare threw himself out of bed and ran for the stairs without even bothering to put on his boots, phone still pressed to his ear. "On it Boss." Apologies would imply complicity at this point; better to get the details first.

The downstairs hall was decorated with fresh blood spatter –if not very much– and some smeared fingerprints; following the trail, the Sun made his way into the kitchen –ignoring the split-second adrenaline spike that always hit due to the unfairly realistic Bester painted in the bricked-up doorway on the right– where he found the older of his two Storms holding a stained dressing pad against his throat with one hand and scrubbing a deep scratch over his hip with an antiseptic wipe.

"You fucking _moron_ ," Curare said, clicking the phone to speaker so Boss could hear and setting it on the worktop so he had both hands free, "the _fuck_ were you doing in Patience's kitchen?!"

"There's no milk in the fridge for coffee," Osoi said, tone faintly plaintive.

Curare wished briefly that he'd grabbed his jacket on his way out of his room; then he could have poisoned his Stupid subordinate for forgetting to put his brain in this morning. "Did you check the cupboards? This is an intermittently occupied safe-house." The Sun walked over to the kitchen unit beside the fridge and opened the door to demonstrate; sure enough, there on the lower shelf were a quartet of long-life milk cartons alongside various tins of soup and a range of canned vegetables.

"Er," Osoi visibly scrabbled for a justification for his Stupid, "but this is an inhabited safe-house!"

"No it isn't," Curare countered instantly, "this is a safe-house with a _caretaker_. That means long-life food is provided and we don't have to tumble-dry and put away the sheets before leaving, but that we still have to clean our own rooms and shouldn't leave perishables lying around because they'll spoil." He took a deep, steadying breath. "And you just broke into the caretaker's _private rooms_ to raid her fridge and she's _Boss's Cloud Guardian_ , shit-for-brains!"

Osoi swallowed hard, eyes wide and skin paling to a nasty greyish shade as the gravity of his plight hit home.

Curare turned his back on the dead-loss and picked up his phone again. "Sorry about that, Boss." He ignored the whimper from behind him; trash deserved it.

"I'll be there by the afternoon," Boss said, words clipped but tone slightly less homicidal as his voice emerged from the speaker. "Don't kill him before then."

"Wouldn't dream of it Boss." He'd probably be down a squad member by dinnertime but anybody who did something _this_ Stupid was better off removed from the gene pool entirely. The Varia Head hung up; Curare turned back to Osoi, who was now shaking in terror.

"I'm going to patch you up," the Sun said softly, "and then I am going to make you regret ever being born. And then I will heal you again so Boss can take his turn, then again as many times as he asks me to." The Storm was a mess right now, having clearly been badly mauled by a feline Box Animal and only still alive because he'd been wearing his uniform jacket; Curare should probably slide a note under Patience's door to let her know she hadn't successfully committed murder, just in case she wanted to rectify that personally later. Clouds were less hung up on morals than they were afflicted with entrenched preferences and while Patience might not find professional murder at all to her taste, he'd yet to meet a Cloud that _wasn't_ willing to commit a spot of spontaneous homicide when somebody wilfully violated their boundaries.

"And don't think I'm going to let you die before Boss gets here," the Sun added evenly, noticing his subordinate's fingers twitching towards a knife and reaching over to press fingers to the top of the man's spine; "you're not getting out of this that easily." He was a fully trained pharmacist and had Apprenticed in Medical; he knew _all_ about subduing panicky wounded Varia assassins, both with Flames and without. Luss had taught them all well.

Once the moron was patched up, drugged enough to prevent escape and properly secured, Curare was going to make himself coffee and a hot breakfast, then wake up the rest of the Squad so they knew what was coming and could stay well out of Patience's way. She was a Cloud, so she'd be badly on edge after finding a trespasser in her Territory first thing in the morning. No need to upset her any further if it could possibly be helped, especially when Boss was already on the warpath.

* * *

Ordering Szökő to make a detour to get him to the airport, waiting impatiently while Information sorted out a flight for him and then having to sit on a plane for two and a half hours, crammed into an aisle seat wearing Conjured headphones so nobody tried to talk to him, did nothing for Xanxus's mood; he'd had to Ward his go-bag extensively so nobody noticed him carrying it onto the flight or tried to scan it –or him– for concealed weapons, but the way that Ward worked meant he had to keep the bag out of sight as much as possible, so it was stuffed in an overhead compartment and he couldn't go digging in it for a book or a snack without drawing undue attention to it, because it was considerably larger than was strictly legal.

He spent the entire trip pretending to sleep, was on his feet the moment the seatbelt sign clicked off after they landed and the first person down the steps with his bag slung over his shoulder, relying on his height, appearance and uninhibitedly foul mood to clear a space around him. It was half-past three in the afternoon, eight hours since he'd first called Florrie –he'd called her again at the airport to give her an update and see how she was holding up– and he felt rubbed raw by all the delays and civilian idiocy he'd had to put up with to get this far.

Marching out of the terminal building, he glanced around for the car he'd been promised would be waiting –there it was, a Storm in the driver's seat– threw his bag into the backseat and climbed in after it, slamming the door behind him.

"Drive," he ordered.

"Sir!" The Storm complied; Curare's Squad currently had two Storms and a Cloud under the Sun leading it, so it made sense that with an unmodified hire car as their only mode of transport, Curare had delegated driving to his Storms. However with one Storm tied up awaiting punishment for his Stupid, there was only one person left to pick up the Varia Boss from the airport.

Xanxus knew that the moron who'd broken into Florrie's kitchen was Named Osoi, so this had to be Stomp: the nineteen-year-old who'd aged out of the Apprentice program without anybody taking him on, got Named on his own merits after about a year in the mook pool and been shuffled through three different Squads since then. If Curare took a liking to him he might stay with the Sun once September was over, but if not he'd be reassigned like most of the other Varia without clearly defined specialties were.

His file said Stomp was starting to show a talent for targeted decay though, so the assassin might get pushed into a specialised Squad in the next year or so depending on how much effort he put into improving himself.

The Varia Boss didn't bother with small-talk and his driver didn't try; he just got them to their destination as swiftly and smoothly as he could without breaking any local traffic laws. Upon arrival Xanxus was out of the car the moment the Storm pulled into the driveway, shouldering his go-bag and heading into the house through the side-door. It was raining, so Florrie would be in her flat rather than out in the garden.

Reaching her front door, he knocked rather than just opening it like he normally would; she'd be on edge and he didn't want to set her back.

Florrie yanked the door open mid-knock and threw herself into his arms; lifting her off her feet, Xanxus held her tightly and walked into her flat, kicking the door closed behind him. Then he dropped his bag and crossed the room to settle on the sofa.

"Got you," he murmured, settling her more comfortably in his arms and kissing her neck as he let his Flames spread out and wrap around her. She might not consciously be able to feel them, but she'd be comforted regardless. The way she relaxed against him, her lingering distress fading further, did a lot to settle his temper; his being here for her was helping. He couldn't change what had happened, but it was looking like his friend wouldn't be scarred for life by it. That was good.

Then she started crying into his shoulder –tears of relief this time– and Xanxus set aside his anger entirely to focus on comforting her.

* * *

Xanxus did not get around to dealing with Osoi until the following morning after breakfast, when Florrie was feeling settled enough to go to university again… after he promised to not leave the house while she was out. Which said it all as to how defensive and insecure she was still feeling about her Territory, but it was very nice that she trusted him to defend and maintain it in her absence. A lot of Clouds weren't that trusting, since the defensive urge was subconscious and therefore both emotive and irrational. Even knowing when something was irrational didn't make being sensible easier; if anything it made a person more irritable and defensive.

His Cloud trusted him though, trusted him to know and respect her boundaries even in her absence, and that was a gift Xanxus had every intention of proving himself worthy of. Which meant not leaving the house. Well, not leaving the property; being in the garden was fine.

As was stopping by the outhouse behind the garage, where Curare had imprisoned his idiot subordinate in the surgery. Every properly set up medical facility belonging to the Varia had a supply of Flame inhibitors –it wasn't safe to operate without them– so the Storm had spent the past twenty-four hours drugged into compliance that he couldn't even attempt to burn off; Curare was skilled enough to get the dosage just right, so Osoi would now be lucid but nowhere near coordinated enough to be a threat, despite not having been out of it for particularly long.

It really wasn't healthy, but at this point that was not a factor. Tyrant had called during breakfast to confirm matters –as a Latent running a Varia safehouse, Florrie was technically Housekeeping– and delegate resolution of the issue to Xanxus. In accordance to his position as Florrie's Sky, rather than as Varia Boss.

"You really fucked up," he told Osoi conversationally as Curare lurked in the far corner of the room, glaring daggers at his Stupid subordinate. "Did you forget that safehouse staff belong to Housekeeping, so Tyrant considers himself personally responsible for their welfare?"

From the way Osoi's face bled from mulish to terrified, he had definitely forgotten.

"You probably _didn't_ know this next part," Xanxus continued casually, "but a Varia assassin invading the personal residence of a member of Varia Housekeeping counts as assault with a deadly weapon even if you never get to the point of committing battery. Tyrant really doesn't like it when people do that, which is why it's a killing offense; delegated in this instance to me in my capacity as Patience's Sky, rather than as Varia Boss." He paused to let this sink in.

"Just fucking kill me," the Storm hissed.

"Oh, I will," Xanxus said quietly, "eventually. Once you've screamed your throat bloody; I haven't used this for torture before, so this will be new and educational for all of us." He called up a handful of Sky Flames and casually inverted them, dropping the air temperature by five degrees in an instant. "Want to watch me freeze your fingers off one by one?"

* * *

The first week of October was usually much like the last week of September: chaotic, incoherent and full of assassins passed out in odd places, often in Squad groups like puppy piles. This year however September had been less busy, so instead everybody was making sure they were up to date on their paperwork, catching up on sleep in their own beds and complaining about how much less money they'd made than usual.

Oh, and handing in their notice.

"Five Squads this week, Pýř! Five! It's not even Friday yet! Verwerfe and Sombra and Pins and Schivo and Redcap! _Redcap_ , Pýř! I keep expecting to look down and find Information have submitted their retirement paperwork while I wasn't looking!" Was he a bad Officer? Was it they didn't want him to lead them after Boss's retirement? Why–

His partner gripped his shoulder and shook him gently, then pushed him down into his chair. "Breathe," the Cloud said calmly. "Not just you."

"Not just –Pýř how many other Squads are jumping ship?"

The Cloud handed over a sheaf of pages. "From Varg and Joia."

Maínomai leafed through them. "Hoax? Pýř wait Milost is retiring? Milost? Who started under Tyr and whose response to Tyrant declaring Captain our new Head was to hum, nod and offer our swaying sleep-deprived teenage leader a bottle of water? Who was out on a mission when Boss was instated, got in to find him sitting behind the desk and just led with his report? Milost whose response to my semi-accidentally offing Mantis was 'I'll have to get a new Mist?' _That_ Milost?" Did Kuchisake know her prospective replacement as Division Squad Leader was leaving? Oh God Maínomai did _not_ want to be the one to tell her… "Staméska too? Well I probably should have expected that since Pins is going; Cheshire–"

The next page gave him considerably more pause. "Hawkeye is requesting I agree to joint-apprenticeship over Fran, so he can continue teaching him despite no longer being Varia."

Pýř grunted, surprise flitting across his face. Well yes; Maínomai was feeling dazed too. Marvel Squad were leaving? Oh _shit_ Marvel Squad weren't exactly the 'retire quietly' type, despite Deadpool being surprisingly invisible since leaving the Varia. The Mist Officer set that to one side and glanced at the last page.

Susi. Susi who was in _Varg's squad_. "Pýř, _Varg_ is jumping ship. That's _three_ Immortal Squads and he's the Cloud GM too! Who's next, Dark Horse?! I wouldn't even _hear_ about that until it was too late because they don't have Mists!" Okay this was too much, he couldn't cope; Maínomai scooped up all the retirement paperwork, including those sheets pertaining to assassins from other Divisions whose Squad Leaders were Mists. "I'm taking this to Captain; at this rate there isn't going to be a Varia _left_!"

* * *

Squalo looked from the stack of files to Joia and back again. "Voi, so who _isn't_ retiring?"

His GM shrugged. "Well, the Squads still in the field haven't submitted anything, of course, and I get the impression that Keunmul are waiting on Kuchisake, who is in turn waiting on Maínomai since she considers him a friend and doesn't want to abandon him, but pretty much every other Squad led by a Rain has handed in their notice. Mahi included; he's cited his apprenticeship contract as the reason because by Vongola Law apprenticeships have priority over other kinds of employment contract and he's still a minor, so technically he _has_ to follow you. That his Squad have decided to stick with him is all on them though."

Squalo had forgotten that aspect of apprenticeships; he really shouldn't have done that. Damn it, he'd need to talk to Springer too and make sure brat knew he was welcome anytime he wanted to stop by. And that Squalo would be visiting to check up on him; he'd signed that contract, he had a responsibility. What else might have forgotten..?

"Is it just the Rains?"

"No, the Clouds and Storms are at it too; not sure about the Mists –Raas is still on a mission– but we're already down three Immortal Squads and from what Debo said when he was in last week, that's going to go up to four the moment the Three Bears are back in the building."

"The Storms I get, but why the Clouds?" Squalo muttered irritably, sifting through the paperwork. Rain-led squads tended to either have no other Rains at all or be completely homogenous; there wasn't much middle ground. Rains in mixed squads were usually alone too; Varia Lore held that while Rains were good for Squad cohesiveness, more than one meant trouble as they tended to either gang up on everybody else or split the squad between them. Which wasn't _exactly_ true, but the only mixed Squads with more than one Rain in tended to be otherwise made up of Lightnings, other than Kuchisake's three-Rain Squad who between them grounded her and diffused her general crazy to Varia-acceptable levels. Squalo had another Rain in his personal Squad, but as Blade Squad was made up exclusively of swordsmen they were pretty cohesive anyway.

"Varg said they asked Sumu first," Joia offered, "and she said they should do as they felt was best, but that whatever their decision was she would support it. I suspect she's got her own reasons there; it might be family-related or to do with her Apprentice."

Yes, Lessi _did_ have an Apprentice to think about, didn't she? Harore was all of twelve, picked up on a mission last September and being semi-fostered by the former Sun GMs. If the Varia was forced to downsize Housekeeping as a result of their reduced mission load it would be people like Tenaz, Khon and Stethi who were asked to leave –they weren't Alliance-born and Vongola Law blatantly favoured those born into and sworn to the Vongola– and between her Officer duties and her Apprentice's wellbeing, Squalo knew which one Lessi would pick. Adults could take care of themselves after all.

"So come Christmas there's unlikely to be a Rain, Storm or Cloud Division," he deduced sourly. "Do any of these people have plans?" It seemed unlikely.

Joia shrugged. "I assume so, Captain. And there's a good chance Lightning Division will decamp wholesale after Boss regardless; you know how they fixate and he actually cares."

That was a good point; Boss had made it abundantly clear over the past two years that he was _personally_ invested in the health and wellbeing of every single member of Lightning Division. None of those assassins really cared about the Alliance, despite most of them being born into it; they'd suffered the misfortune of being designated as meat-shields at an early age and hadn't really been treated like people until becoming Varia. Their loyalty to Boss was personal, so it made sense that they'd follow him into retirement. That could get very tricky, politically speaking.

"Not many Suns retiring?"

"I assume they feel responsible for the rest of us, seeing as a lot of them rotate through Medical," Joia pointed out lightly, shuffling a few files around. "Once enough others get their notice ratified then I expect they'll start making their intentions known. Or else they might take matters to their Officer and coordinate from there; Lussuria runs a very tight ship."

True, Sun Division did cause a whole lot less trouble than anybody else, although that might also have been something to do with them having two GMs.

There was an agitated whirl of Mist in the corridor outside the office and then Maínomai burst into the room, arms full of paperwork.

"Captain! Redcap's handed in his notice, Varg and Hawkeye have _both_ sent me paperwork for their respective Mists –well Hawkeye wants to share responsibility for Fran but it counts– and another _four_ of my Squads have handed in notice of retirement!" the Mist Officer babbled, casually conjuring up a table, dumping all his paperwork on it and separating out a number of files which he handed off to Joia. "What am I supposed to _do_ about mass retirement? Everybody's citing the contract clause which specifies that no actual reason needs to be given and that members are free to retire at any time, provided sufficient notice is given, and that Officer approval is only required in those cases when a member wishes to retire at less than a month's notice! Barring injury of course; for three months Squad Leader permission is sufficient and _all_ the Squad Leaders submitting are granting permission for themselves _and_ for their squads!"

"Tea?" Joia offered quickly as Maínomai paused for breath.

"Yes thank you tea would be lovely," the Mist Officer said a little more calmly, jittering in place, fingers tangling together. "I just, don't know what to do?"

"It's not just your Squads," Squalo interjected firmly before the Mist could work himself up any further; the Mist had clearly escaped his more grounded mission partner, although the Cloud wouldn't be very far behind. "All of my Squad Leaders in the building have handed in notice, Storm and Cloud Division seem to be doing likewise and Lightning are likely to submit a group deputation to Boss personally so he knows they're not letting him leave without them. Once word gets out of how many people are retiring Sun Division will probably follow suit; if there was a tipping point I think we've missed it, voi." September being slow meant everybody had had time to gossip amongst themselves, make decisions and start planning a course of action, so this had probably hit the point of no return at _least_ a week ago.

"Oh. Okay," Maínomai said vaguely, accepting the offered mug of tea from Joia and rocking gently in place as Pýř slipped into the room and settled in a corner. "So I'm not going to be in charge because there's not going to be anybody to be in charge _of_ , because everybody's decided that if Boss is being pushed out by Nono and Chew Toy then they don't want to stay and take orders from them in his absence."

"Pretty much," Squalo agreed. He probably should have foreseen this, but he'd never been particularly good at predicting far-reaching political consequences; people generally were all random about the oddest things and nobody had ever accused the Varia of being particularly sane in the first place. That was Boss's thing, or Bel's; Boss however was too busy wrestling with his feelings over having to leave the Varia to really think about how his being pushed out would make his subordinates feel, so it was likely that the only person who'd actually seen this coming was Bel. Who hadn't warned them; probably because it amused him not to. The little shit.

"In that case I may as well send a notice around my other Squad Leaders and inform them that if they all retire, I will too," the Mist Officer decided, gulping a mouthful of tea and settling further. "I don't want anybody to stay on just because Boss pointed out I was the most senior Officer after his Guardians; I'm coming up on retirement in the next year or so anyway and we have a plan set up, so we can bump things forwards slightly and take it from there."

Pýř nodded from the corner he'd staked out behind his partner; well that simplified things while also complicating them significantly. Squalo pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Voi, I'm calling an Officer meeting," he decided; "the Round Table Room in half an hour, bring the retirement paperwork. Let's see what we've got to work with and start thinking about how we're going to get everybody out without leaving any loose ends for Nono to drag people back with, shall we?"

Maínomai finished his tea, scooped up his paperwork and paused. "Do we invite Tyrant too? I mean, if everybody's leaving Housekeeping should get a say as they'll be out of a job."

"I'll let him know," Squalo agreed; the Mist was right, this would affect Housekeeping too and despite not having a single bonded, Tyrant was extremely protective of _all_ the people under his command.

They clearly wouldn't be getting that quiet retirement Boss had envisaged, but Squalo had a feeling his Sky would be much happier getting to keep his crazies despite leaving the Vongola behind. Now they just had to make it work.

He should invite Mammon too; logistics meant money and if nobody was staying, the miser could strip the Varia infrastructure to the bedrock with impunity.

… Oh wait, that was what he'd forgotten: the mooks. Technically they were Sumu's responsibility –mooks fell under Recruitment– but he could bring them up at the meeting so something could be hashed out. Mooks didn't get to retire –they left, died or got Named– but some of them might want to come along despite being officially Nameless. The majority wouldn't; most mooks came from the Alliance and had Families to go back to.

* * *

On the evening of the eighth of October Xanxus snuck down to the farmstead to decompress for a few hours. September paperwork had been hectic, but less terrible than usual so he'd actually finished everything on his desk. Of course there'd be more arriving over the course of the upcoming week –more Squad Leaders submitting their reports, more Squads getting in and so on– but for now he could take some time off with a clear conscience.

He was considering the contents of his pantry and the possibility of making bread when he realised that he'd have to delegate looking after the property to someone else after retiring to Mafia Land. He'd have to clear out the pantry properly too; most of its contents would keep for weeks or even months, but he honestly had no idea how long it would be before he came back once he moved to the floating island. It wouldn't be like now, where the farm was barely half an hour's walk from where he lived; Vongola complications could force him to avoid Southern and Central Europe entirely for several _years._

He could in theory go on leaving it to Housekeeping, but that was a bit much when he wouldn't _be_ Varia anymore. His best bet would probably be to talk to Tyrant and see if a few specific individuals _in_ Housekeeping were willing to lease the building from him, thereby taking personal responsibility for the chickens, other livestock and trees. That would ensure Housekeeping could go on taking advantage of having cat-free land to farm on and he didn't have to worry about the place going derelict in his absence.

He'd mention it after his birthday; for now he was going to bake bread and possibly start planning a cake. It was going to be his birthday; he could bake himself a cake if he wanted to and Florrie had given him a copy of her multi-layered chocolate cake recipe.

* * *

Lightning Division was, objectively speaking, in a much better place these days. Since Levi's death his subordinates had become gradually less wary of showing off their talents and Xanxus now had a GM doing paperwork triage and keeping an eye on everybody's mental health. Schön was one of two women in the Division –whose existence the Varia Boss had been entirely unaware of before Levi's death, which said a lot about how terrible the former Officer had been– but had only requested to have her gender on the paperwork changed last Christmas. Mjölnir's paperwork still listed her as a strictly technical sufferer of femininity, but she'd quietly corrected his pronoun use summer before last during a language assessment so he had adapted accordingly.

It was very likely that Levi had been entirely unaware that two of his subordinates identified as female; both were former Apprentices who had been trained by Varia Ladies of different Flame types and both had gone out of their way to dress ambiguously until very recently indeed. That they'd considered the subterfuge necessary made Xanxus feel ashamed; he'd let Levi get away with far too much, just because the problems weren't being shoved in his face. No, the problems _had_ been shoved in his face; he'd known how strict his Lightning Officer was with his subordinates and that he was willing to kill them for relatively petty infractions. He just hadn't cared; it had seemed minor compared to his other, more personally relevant issues.

He'd also known that Levi liked looking at younger women and about the man's porn addiction, but hadn't really connected either together with how an Apprentice or new Varia would feel about having a man like that exercising complete power over their lives.

Neither assassin had ever been physically harmed by Levi, but Xanxus knew perfectly well that stress and hyper-vigilance took their own toll. He _really_ should have noticed this was a problem sooner.

He glanced up as Schön walked into his office, followed by Qaz –who had recently earned the distinction of being the first Lightning in the Division to reach thirty since Tesla retired over a decade ago– Orphnaeus, Krakk and Texio, the latter two being the Division's only Squad Leaders. Xanxus hoped that would change soon –of the dozen or so under-twenties under his personal command, a handful definitely had leadership potential– but for now those three were it. Qaz was not Squad Leader material, but he was steady and highly experienced so the rest of the Division frequently turned to him for advice. He was also kind, determinedly optimistic and very practical, so had gravitated into a co-GM role alongside Schön, augmenting her emotional competence with an in-depth understanding of the Varia infrastructure.

He didn't usually get all five of his top subordinates in his office at once though, not unless he'd summoned them to hand down new orders; Orphnaeus might have been the Division baby at barely eighteen, but he was highly competent and more emotionally aware than most Lightnings –his not being Alliance-born was probably a factor– so he got dragged into most of Xanxus's efforts to improve the Division purely because he knew his limits and was able to say 'no' to his Boss's face when he knew something was beyond him. That he knew his Squad Leader would back him on that probably helped; Dīs was not somebody to tangle with lightly, even if you were Varia Head.

"What's the occasion?" he asked curiously. It was his birthday tomorrow, so it might relate to that; otherwise it could be a post-September thing or relating to his upcoming retirement.

The five all exchanged glances, then Qaz moved to the front of the group. "We're leaving with you, Boss," he said calmly.

"You five?" Xanxus asked, not particularly impressed by their defection. Removing the top members would set the Division back half a decade at best.

"All of us, Boss," Schön corrected from behind Qaz's right shoulder. "Everybody in the Division; all thirty-seven of us, plus the Apprentices. I checked with Tyrant and he agreed we can take them with us; we've put through the appropriate paperwork so all that's left to do is decide what personal oaths you'd like us to commit to when we leave."

Xanxus realised his jaw had dropped and hastily closed his mouth so he looked a bit less gormless. This was… why?

"You're our Boss, Boss," Orphnaeus said simply, evidently reading his shock right off his face. "Why wouldn't we follow you?"

"Dīs is fine with me absconding with you?" Xanxus asked roughly.

The young Lightning smirked. "Oh, he's coming along too, along with the rest of Dark Horse. It's always been about you, Boss; we're here because we follow _you_. If you're not staying, why should we?"

The subtext was clear; Xanxus was likely to be faced with a rash of retirements and far more company than he'd anticipated in his self-imposed exile. Possibly more than just current Varia too; Tyrant wouldn't have given the go-ahead for the Lightning Apprentices if he didn't have plans of his own in the works; the Head of Varia Housekeeping had already agreed to let him take a few people with him to Mafia Land.

It looked like 'a few people' would be a fairly sizeable understatement.

* * *

"Everybody?"

Squalo took great pleasure in his Sky's poleaxed expression. "Well not _everybody_ -everybody," he conceded lightly, "as about a third of Housekeeping want to stay in Sicily where their family is and maybe a dozen of the local veterans want to stick around here and keep an eye on the Alliance for you, but everybody else, yes. Tyrant's arranging for some of the Housekeeping staff staying to help out at the Cavallone side-venture so they don't have to go job-hunting and Mammon upping the asset-stripping means the people retiring locally aren't going to have any trouble affording housing, so nobody's going to fall through the cracks." With the entire Varia getting out of dodge, the miser could strip Headquarters of everything saleable and pass it on to Varia members for fire-sale prices, then resell it on their behalf for several times as much; Squalo had backed hastily out of the Treasury office when Mammon started giggling about copper prices and electrical wiring.

Xanxus still looked stunned; Squalo took a moment to enjoy it. It wasn't often he got to surprise Boss like this and the man's face was a picture. He should have brought a camera; damn.

"Do we even have space?" The Sky rasped eventually.

"You left that to Mammon to organise," Squalo reminded him with a teasing smirk, "so they're leasing an entire apartment block rather than just a house. Getting modification rights too, for all they were grousing about how much those cost; you've just got to keep everyone in line and help them find jobs. Eventually anyway; I think everybody's looking forward to a month-long holiday come New Year." It wasn't like any Varia assassin was short on transferable skills and everybody was getting a respectable money cushion from the asset stripping to tide them over for a bit. Housekeeping would all be getting redundancy payments since they were being 'let go' rather than retiring or leaving, so they wouldn't be hurting for funds either.

Xanxus nodded vaguely, getting to his feet and wandering over to the window to stare sightlessly across the grounds; Squalo sauntered up behind his Sky and leaned into the man's back.

"You're all of ours," he said quietly. "We're not letting you get away that easily, Boss."

The snicker ripped from his Sky's throat was almost a sob. "Old fart's gonna be _pissed_."

"That's his problem," Squalo dismissed, eyes resting on the far wall rather than his Sky's face. "We've just got to make sure the paperwork's ironclad; if he didn't want us to leave he shouldn't have treated you like shit." Because Xanxus was _their_ Boss, _their_ chosen leader and Nono's refusal to give Boss the respect he was due was an insult to the entire Varia.

"Shit," Xanxus muttered, leaning back into Squalo and scrubbing his eyes with his shirt sleeve. "Shit."

Squalo knew already that their doing this could easily bring down the Vongola and possibly the entire Alliance with it, but at this point he didn't care. Nono should have considered that possibility before trying to strangle their livelihoods, heaping abuse after insult after injury on Boss's head and nominating a pathetic, ignorant, self-centred civvie as his Heir.

His Family would be pissed at him for keeping this quiet, but a sudden upheaval would at least give the Superbi a better chance of survival than the slow death that Chew Toy's ascension to Decimo would inevitably bring. It would surprise the rest of the Underworld too, which was their best bet for warding off attacks for a while. Boss had already spent two years talking through contingencies and worst-case scenarios with the rest of the Dons; it they couldn't salvage things themselves after that, that was their problem.

It was going to be challenging and there'd be a lot of shouting afterwards, but it _would_ work. Squalo refused to allow things to fall otherwise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

Xanxus rolled out of bed at half-past five on the morning of his birthday, stumbled into the bathroom, used the toilet, washed his hands and then stared at his reflection in the mirror for a solid minute.

The _entire Varia_ was retiring with him.

He knew better than to assume it was entirely out of loyalty; yes, some of them _were_ following him out of loyalty, but the others were either standing with their friends, looking at the likelihood of future Vongola sanctions and wanting to avoid that whole mess or just taking note of how many other people were retiring and not wanting to get left holding the baby. As it were.

It was still genuinely touching; he'd have to have another meeting with Tyrant, to hash out the details of who was coming, who wasn't and make sure everybody staying behind had work lined up before he finally left. The farmstead could probably go back to being a working farm –possibly supplying the Cavallone? Or even feeding the independent venture being run by ex-Varia; it wasn't like it was that far from here to there– but that wouldn't employ more than maybe three people at the very most and the farmhouse wasn't really big enough for more than two anyway.

Tyrant would probably have plans already; there was always that hospital project kitty-cat was cooking up with horse, as they would need cleaning staff and building contractors and Varia Housekeeping included both.

Mammon was clearly getting on with stripping the Varia of every possible asset that didn't come directly from the Vongola, which was everything other than the castle building itself and the grounds; the soil specifically, as they could probably make an argument for selling off the trees and other plants. It wasn't like the Vongola could sell the castle after the Varia had left either; there were no shortage of variously derelict castles scattered across Sicily –and all of Italy really– so they were vanishingly unlikely to find a buyer.

Probably wouldn't _want_ to sell it either, what with the risk of civvies stumbling into forgotten traps left behind and the rather more pressing problem that was all the mass graves scattered across the grounds. The entire _property_ was a mass grave, in more ways than one; the Varia had been burying people all over the place for well over half a century now and not all of those bodies had been deboned beforehand. Never mind the body farm; that might have to be sectioned off and turned over to somebody qualified to supervise it, unless Bulldog was staying behind to manage it on Vongola funding. It was technically a joint project with Vongola Medical and Legal after all.

That would still mean the Vongola would be left with a massive Moorish castle to pay property taxes on, which would be costly to maintain should anybody even be willing to attempt getting in. A few of the members of Varia Housekeeping left behind might care enough to do a spot of basic maintenance, but a few pairs of hands were nowhere near sufficient to keep everything in good shape.

There was also the problem that the Varia Archive would need to be kept as it was –it belonged to the Varia so couldn't be moved or emptied– which meant a basic Ward system would need to be left in place to protect it. The various Cursed nasties in the dungeons might be taken or left –it depended how keen the R&D geeks and the Curse specialists were on studying them or trying to destroy them– and leaving them as 'Varia duties' would mean leaving more of the security up, so nobody could let anything out.

Xanxus didn't doubt that Mammon could rig the security to feed on the deaths of the trespassers it killed; the question was, how long would that last? Wards could draw additional energy from plant life as well, and the grounds were large enough that they could feasibly go on doing so for some time before the additional strain started to take its toll on the local ecosystem, but still…

Well, they could always sneak back in a decade or two down the line to see how things were holding up and reassess. Twenty years and the old fart would probably be dead and in the ground; Chew Toy might be too, since he'd no longer have the implicit threat of the Varia to keep the Alliance's enemies in line with and possessed all the spine of an overcooked noodle. Trash hadn't even lasted a decade in the simulation after all.

Feeling cheered by that revelation, Xanxus headed back to bed. It was too early for anything except cuddling with the shark right now, but in a few hours he'd head back down to the farm for his cake and to enjoy the quiet. He was nineteen now, but the old fart might still try to pull shit and he'd rather leave that to Luss. His Sun had very clearly enjoyed thwarting the old fucker last year, so offering further opportunities was considerate.

"Time is it?" his Rain mumbled as he slid back under the covers.

"Early," Xanxus replied quietly, stroking a hand down the shark's side over his t-shirt until it came to rest on his bare hip. The swordsman sighed and rolled over, leaning his face into Xanxus's throat.

"Want to fuck?" shark asked idly, breath hot against bare skin.

Xanxus felt his mouth twitch up into a smirk. "Happy birthday to me," he hummed, nipping lightly on his Rain's collarbone. Squalo's answering snort was very satisfying, as was the shudder as Xanxus's hand found the other man's dick.

They had a few hours; he could take his time unravelling the shark.

* * *

By the time Squalo finally rolled out of bed, Boss had showered, dressed and was halfway through a birthday breakfast provided by Housekeeping. "Spending the day on the farm," his Sky said in between mouthfuls of chocolate crepes.

Avoiding Nono, no doubt. "I'll stop by my family; pick up whatever presents they've got for you so they don't have to deal with Varia security," Squalo decided, stretching languidly and shaking his hair out of his face, not caring that the old t-shirt he wore to sleep in didn't hang much lower than his hips. Pantera had texted him yesterday to let him know there was a pile of presents for Xanxus he needed to pick up, so fetching them would mean he could get out of the building and thereby avoid Vongola politics.

"Bring round the farm," Boss ordered without looking up, shovelling more crepes into his mouth.

"Was planning on it, Boss." Like he'd let the Varia see what his Sky was getting from his Family unless Xanxus explicitly gave him the go-ahead.

"Can use the shower," the Sky added, words muffled.

Squalo side-eyed his Sky. "Vooi, are you saying I _smell,_ Boss?" He'd showered yesterday evening, after a few hours' heavy sparring, so there was no way he could smell _that_ bad just yet.

Boss swallowed. "Smell like sex," he said smugly. "Don't mind; kitty-cat might comment though."

Yeah Pantera _would_ notice and then he'd have to fend off nosy inquiries. Very pointed and annoyingly accurate inquiries, since his cousin had a brain. The gossip circuit was still under the impression that he and Lessi had a thing going on, which would derail most people but Pantera unfortunately knew him better than that; cat would take note of the date and start musing about threesomes. Which, it wasn't that he was even slightly ashamed of what he and Boss were doing, but dragging Lessi into it would make it awkward for her as her father would be _all_ in favour of her marrying Boss, which she very much did _not_ want to do.

He'd seen her eying Alizeti lately, which was amusing and likely to work out for both of them because the younger Sun GM admired the Cloud Officer whole-heartedly and had something of a crush. Which of course he'd never act on while they were both Varia because cross-ranking relationships like that were frowned upon due to the mismatched power dynamics, but since everybody was retiring come Christmas that wasn't going to be an obstacle for much longer.

"I'm using your shower, it's bigger than mine," Squalo decided, stretching again and turning back towards the bedroom. "Have Housekeeping bring over a change of clothes; civvie stuff, practical for the farm." Yes his bedroom _was_ extensively trapped, but only for Actives. Latent Housekeeping members could get in and out just fine, which meant they cleaned the bathroom while he was out on missions and put his clothing back in his closet rather than just leaving it in his slot in the communal airing cupboards. The privileges of rank, orderliness and selective security; Bel couldn't do selective security and his room was a pigsty with knives and poisons scattered everywhere, so he had to do his own cleaning regardless of rank. Or else make the mooks do it as a training exercise.

"Will do," Xanxus agreed, his words muffled by crepe once again.

* * *

There were quite a lot of gifts piled up in the little side-room Solare showed him into; Squalo was glad he'd thought to drive over rather than come on his motorbike. Who were all these _from_?

Picking up the nearest package with both hands, Squalo flicked the label over; 'Aunt Ornata;' well that made sense, seeing as she was Xanxus's actual aunt. Of course she'd want to give him a birthday present. He resisted the urge to shake the box; they weren't his presents.

"Voi, can you get me some bags?" Shopping bags would make moving all these much easier and safer, as he'd be able to carry more at once without risking any of them getting dropped and possibly damaged.

Solare nodded briskly. "Of course." She glanced assessingly at the mound of gifts; "large reinforced bags." She left the room.

Squalo started sorting the gifts by size and weight, laying them in rows to make it easier to pack them into bags. At least two of the gifts were live plants –shape and weight distribution made that much clear– which would be interesting for Xanxus since he didn't think the man had ever had a pot plant before. Florrie had a dozen or so, which Squalo knew Xanxus helped her water when he visited, so at least he'd know where to start with them.

Some of the packages were squashy, which implied clothing or possibly a cushion or some other soft furnishing. Others were solid in a way that was either an indication of literature or chocolate; weight- and shape-wise most of those could go either way. Some were obviously CDs –not much else was that size and shape– and others were equally clearly alcohol, since they made sloshy noises. A few were downright baffling –the inscrutably cuboid boxes mainly– but Xanxus would be opening them all soon enough, so Squalo wouldn't have to suffer too long.

There was also an open shoebox full of brightly coloured envelopes, so Xanxus would have enough birthday cards to cover every last flat surface in the farmstead; the Varia didn't really bother with cards as a rule, so that would be different.

Squalo was maybe a bit jealous; _he_ didn't get this many birthday presents. Then again he hadn't been missing for the first eighteen years of his life, so maybe it wasn't so surprising that everybody wanted to spoil his Sky rotten to make up for all the things he'd missed out on.

"Ah, there you are, cousin."

Squalo raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed loudly. "What do you want, cat?" That particular pleased tone only came out when Pantera had found the perfect victim for his latest twisty scheme, so whatever it was his cousin wanted him to do, Squalo wanted to make sure it was worth his while.

There was no point trying to avoid the thing, but if the cat ensured he got something out of it too then he wouldn't complain too much.

"Did you know the Giglio Nero and the Trad 6 were competing for a Vongola supply contract?" the Heir Superbi said idly, wandering into the room and leaning his elbows on the back of the loveseat. "Logistical support, documentation, those kinds of things. The Trad 6 successfully argued that the Giglio Nero 'lacked fundamental Vongola values' and got the contract, despite their offer being less profitable."

Squalo raised an eyebrow; so the smear campaign was gaining traction then. "Voi, what's that got to do with me?"

Pantera stared coolly at him. "What can you tell me about Donna Yuni Giglio Nero, Squalo?" he asked mildly.

Squalo thought about it. "She's not actually Donna Aria's daughter, we checked. Not her niece or a 'distant cousin' or any of that either. We did a comprehensive Giglio Nero family tree" –grave robbery made many things possible– "and she's not on it." Mist-made family trees were as much about who had physically given birth to whom as genetic similarity; there was more to what made a family than mere blood and a surrogate showed up just as much as an egg or sperm donor. There'd been some interesting surprises on that tree. "Genetically she _could_ be Aria's, but on her own tree she shows up as a singular entity lacking in parents, which usually only happens when Mists fuck around with genetics from multiple donors in the lab and grow a kitten in a test-tube." Which several Varia _had_ done in the past, just to prove they could; Frankenkitty and Cobble had otherwise been completely healthy and were now mothers and grandmas to numerous perfectly healthy offspring.

"She appeared right after the memory mess, did she not?"

Squalo nodded. "According to the Bovino's notes on how their Bazooka worked, she shouldn't have existed in the simulation," he said bluntly, "but equally, Donna Aria _would_ have died about six years into the simulation due to the effects of the Sky pacifier, which would then have needed to be handed on to another Sky. Some have theorised that the simulation used the templates in the pacifier of previous Sky Arcobaleno, mashed them together and created a fake person with the Will that echoed most coherently within the pacifier." Or else whatever the Will of the Tri-Ni-Sette was. "But that's just a theory."

"And what driving Will might that be?" Pantera asked, draping himself more comfortably over the back of the loveseat with his chin propped up on his fingers.

"To not die," Squalo said concisely. "Every single Sky Arcobaleno had died young; how many of those do you think genuinely _wanted_ to?"

"So Miss Yuni wants, more than anything else, to not die," Pantera mused, "and she is a ghost within a simulation; a Sky Arcobaleno ghost at that, so she likely knows that she does not truly exist. So she wastes the lives of her subordinates to improve her standing, twists the simulation and those affected by it so that real people are trapped within it for an extended period –including a _real_ Arcobaleno pacifier and the Vongola Rings, which anchor through time– then follows them out when they leave, usurping control of the Sky Pacifier from her supposed 'mother' and killing her so that she can live the life she has become accustomed to and desperately desires to keep." He sighed. "So transparent." He sounded disappointed.

"She's actually alive now," Squalo pointed out, "with a real brain and brain chemistry. She's just got the emotions and attitude of a toddler because she's only physically existed for a few years." The attitude of a real toddler rather than an Arcobaleno one; Mammon had retained adult mental development and emotional awareness despite appearing to be two.

"So she _could_ in theory become a mature, caring adult with functional empathy in a few decades' time," the Heir Superbi said measuredly, "but for now she is a selfish, greedy infant, with near-adult intellect, articulation and appearance to get her way with." He sighed again. "Lovely."

"A good solid Curse would regress her," Squalo offered; all the Varia's Mists had agreed on that point, despite disagreeing vehemently on whether or not she was genuinely human. Or genuinely whatever Kawahira's species had been or some hybrid thereof; Squalo had stayed well out of those discussions as they'd taken a turn for the spiritual and philosophical very quickly. "She's not an Arcobaleno anymore and her body _knows_ it's barely two and a half. Some surreptitious Flame inhibitors and the right wording and she'd be reduced to a stomping, screaming toddler." Which would be karma, so far as he was concerned, so might possibly not even qualify as a Curse at all.

"A Flame-Active toddler." Active Flames were very bad for small children; it warped their mental development.

"Technically she's one already." Being physically regressed might even be good for her mental and emotional health. It would at least prompt those around her to actually treat her as the small child she was, imposing healthy boundaries on her until she learnt to maintain them herself; learning boundaries and respecting them was an important part of early mental development, no matter how much the child in question raged against having their influence limited.

"Would the Varia..?" His cousin asked leadingly.

"No." They were all retiring, but he wasn't about to say that. "We're in enough shit at the moment without Nono accusing us of attacking an Allied Donna." 'Incomprehensible and untraceable' was practically a Varia calling card, so lack of evidence wouldn't save them there.

Pantera nodded acceptingly. "Would the Varia be willing to sell me their opinions and the evidence they have gathered on the subject?"

"Submit a request to Information, they'll ask the individuals in question," Squalo said shortly; he could feel Solare coming back and wanted the discussion over. "You'll have to pay the various people separately for their time and expertise rather than making it a mission though, or else it won't get past the caps."

"Caps?"

Cat hadn't heard? "Nono instituted mission caps for the Varia last Quiet Week; we're only allowed to take a set number of missions per quarter."

"Significantly fewer missions, I assume?" Pantera inquired as Solare walked back in with a large cardboard fruit box piled high with bags.

"We're struggling to meet the Vongola wage minimums after overheads," Squalo said sourly; he might not be Mammon but he'd run the Varia for years; he knew what those numbers on his subordinates' mission reports and official wage slips meant. Yes, Mammon was supplementing everybody up to last year's income levels regardless, but Nono's destructive short-sightedness offended him.

"You've not taken this to Don Vongola?"

Mammon had; well, had tried. Once. For the look of the thing. "Apparently we don't have any problems that some 'internal restructuring' wouldn't fix." Meaning, firing the people who weren't Alliance-born and slashing everybody else's employment benefits to almost nothing so the numbers looked better; Nono was fucking _scum_.

"I see." His cousin clearly did, going by that deliberately blank frown. Solare clearly did too; her sniff made it clear that the Family's opinion of Don Vongola was about to drop even lower than it already was. The Varia employed Superbi –just two but that was enough– so the Family wanted it to be successful. Deliberately strangling the growth and opportunities of Family members would put Nono on _everybody's_ shit list.

"Well, let's get those gifts loaded up, shall we?" Cat said with a bland, amiable smile that barely camouflaged the ferocious thought taking place underneath. "Give our cousin our very best wishes, won't you?"

Oh yes; the Varia employed _three_ Superbi now. One of whom was Varia Boss. Oh yes, Nono was going to _really_ get it from Uncle Leone over this. This was technically breaking the terms of the Superbi joining the Vongola Alliance after all; hampering their 'pursuit of excellence.'

It promised to be amusing, since Don Vongola certainly _wasn't_ going to change his mind within the next few months; by next Quiet Week at best, possibly, if he thought Xanxus had 'learned his lesson' by then. Except he wasn't going to get that long, was he?

Squalo did his best to smother his grin; now was not the time.

* * *

"Happy birthday Xanxus!"

"Thanks," Xanxus said, smiling at the sound of his Cloud's voice. "Doing well?" He'd been calling her as often as he could since taking a few days to deal with the Varia home invasion she'd suffered, to make sure she was continuing to recover.

"Very well, thank you; did you like your present?"

"Very much," he assured her; she'd sent him an old-fashioned hurricane lantern and asked in the card whether it would be possible to convert it to run on Flames rather than paraffin. His mind was already chewing happily on the challenge and pondering the possibility of using Flame Ice as part of setup, since it was self-sustaining in a suitably Flame-rich environment and could support a steady drain. "Going to have fun with it."

"Oh good."

"Like the handkerchiefs too." They'd clearly been an additional gag-gift, but they each had an 'X' embroidered in one corner and nobody had ever given him cotton hankies before. Florrie generally had one on her person somewhere –men's hankies as they were larger and sturdier– but he'd always stuck to paper tissues. Handkerchiefs were more multipurpose though; he'd seen Florrie absently dust the top of a bookshelf with one, bandage a scraped elbow while out on a walk and wrap up a few biscuits before pocketing them. On separate occasions of course; Xanxus had a feeling at least half of his would end up stained with machine oils and other workshop-related fluids before long.

They were also all orange. A relatively tasteful autumnal orange, but still orange. He wasn't going to accidentally lose track of them.

"I saw them and thought of you," his Cloud told him cheerfully.

She probably had. "Where'd you find them?"

His friend giggled. "I was looking for a dye pack to re-dye my linen trousers, the blue pair, as they were getting rather faded," she told him cheerfully, "and I noticed there was a pack of orange dye. And I was inspired, so I bought some plain cotton handkerchiefs with a black initial on them and decided to see if my idea would work. And it did!"

So she'd technically made them herself. "Will they bleed?"

"They shouldn't, I washed them a few more times after dying and fixing them," Florrie said firmly. "Washed them on hot, too."

"Be fine then." Good to know. "What does 'deadhead' mean?"

"Er, I assume this is a gardening question?"

"Yes." He'd got a potted plant from Ghepardo's son Servalo for his birthday and the handwritten care instructions assumed a level of familiarity with gardening conventions which Xanxus lacked.

"It's cutting off dead flowers before they can go to seed; you do it to a plant so it continues flowering for longer."

"Like you do with your lavender?"

"Sort of; I harvest the lavender before it flowers, because the essential oils are strongest in the buds, but the same principle does apply as the bush will put out more buds to replace the ones I've trimmed off."

That made sense. "Not bad for the plant in the long run?"

"Not at all; you're just stopping it from expending energy reproducing."

That followed; plant birth control, ha. "Planning anything for your birthday?"

"Well it's going to be on a Saturday this year, so Chickie made me promise to let her arrange a party," Florrie said, her tone making it clear she still wasn't entirely sold on the idea. "I made her promise not to invite more than twelve people and that it had to be a daytime thing, but I have no idea what she's getting up to there and I'm not sure I want to."

"If it turns out dreadful I'll come the weekend after and we can go out for afternoon tea." There were a range of fancy tea shops that did what his Cloud called 'a proper high tea' near where she lived, so it wouldn't be a challenge. That was a month away, so plenty of time to book a few days' holiday; or else pack a Mist-box and work from her flat, so it looked like he was still in the office to outsiders.

"That sounds nice," Florrie said wistfully.

"Do it anyway then." If it would make her happy there was no point having it be a conditional thing.

"On the eighth then?"

"It's a date," Xanxus agreed comfortably. "Anything particular you'd like for your birthday?"

A pause. "Dark chocolate ice cream," his Cloud said eventually. "You've ruined me for shop-bought chocolate ice cream, you fiend; nothing tastes good enough anymore!"

Xanxus chuckled; England didn't have artisan ice cream like Italy did, so it wasn't so surprising that she couldn't buy anything that matched the stuff he'd made with his Flames the last time he'd visited. He'd found a few Italian recipes and liked them more than the British ones –fewer ingredients and less sugar– so was now using those ones exclusively.

"Might start an ice cream business after retiring," he mused a little teasingly.

"You'd never run out of customers," his Cloud informed him. "Also, my boots need re-soling but I'm hesitant to just walk into a local cobbler's with them when I've never been to one before and don't know what to look or ask for."

"Can sort that out." The Varia cobbler would still have her foot castings and the associated measurements; he could make new soles and then Xanxus could bring her boots back with him after her birthday for them to be attached, and then post the refurbished boots to her afterwards. Which reminded him, he needed to make sure that guy and his family didn't go out of business when the Varia disbanded…

"Thank you, I noticed the soles were wearing thin yesterday and I wasn't sure what to do."

"No problem. Love you."

"Love you too; enjoy the rest of your birthday."

"Will do; bye."

"Bye-bye!"

* * *

The week after his birthday took a turn for the unexpectedly busy, despite the dearth of missions; it started with an unexpected flurry of personal letters on the Monday morning and unfolded from there.

"Gwasgedd's had the baby then," was all the shark had to say when Xanxus waved the baptism invitation in his face.

"Didn't even know they'd got _married_ yet, shark." He was pretty sure he'd have noticed a wedding invitation.

Squalo grinned. "Oh, they did it privately at the Palermo registry office barely a week after retiring, with Gwasgedd's Clouds as witnesses; neither of them are Catholic, so it was never going to be a big church wedding. They've asked Gregorius to do the baptism though, since that's a pretty universal sacrament."

"In the Varia chapel." Why hadn't this come up sooner?

"It's Gregorius's church anyway," shark said with a shrug. "He gets intense if you try to suggest people need permission to come in the front door. I mean, anybody who can get past the security on the grounds _deserves_ sanctuary, don't you think?" The chapel was behind the castle that was Varia Headquarters, attached but not really part of the main fortifications and invisible to guests coming up the front drive.

Xanxus narrowed his eyes at his Rain. "You're smug."

Shark flashed another grin. "I've been asked to stand as godparent on Gwas's side, along with Oversight." Oversight was a strictly technical sufferer of femininity on the Varia paperwork –more so than most since they insisted on male pronouns– but they preferred dressing and being addressed as a woman when not working.

Xanxus wasn't sure if he was relieved or offended he hadn't been picked. "Who'd Sarja go for?"

"Sekti and Micia." That made sense; Sekti was very steady and reliable –more so than Bel would ever be– and Micia was Sarja's replacement as Leader of Problem Squad.

"Brat's going to grow up interesting," the Varia Boss mused idly, setting the invitation to one side and picking up the next letter.

"Interesting name they picked too," shark agreed; "Thierry Chrysós? Wonder what's behind that."

Xanxus hummed, eyes skimming the next piece of correspondence. "Scooby wants a meet-up," he noted; that was unexpected. What was the Gesso Heir after?

Shark hummed curiously.

"It's personal not business, so it's not about the ongoing mission or commissioning a new one," the Varia Boss noted, re-reading the letter more carefully, "but he's being very cagey about what he wants to talk about exactly." The slight feel of Sky Flames on the letter were a mix of trepidation, anticipation and pique, which made for a volatile and unpredictable combination.

"Going to agree to it, Boss?"

Well, why not? It wasn't like it would make a difference in the long run and what the Varia were currently doing was _nothing_ like the fake-future, so they'd probably be safe from Scooby poking his nose where it wasn't wanted. "Will book him in; he can come here." That would force the cracked Sky to either reschedule and offer an alternative venue –which Xanxus would turn down; Scooby wanted to talk he could come to the Varia– or show up, and if he showed up then the number and selection of Guardians he brought along would be telling.

Nobody at the Varia liked the Gesso much. The antipathy was mutual, if somewhat pointless since it was over something that hadn't actually happened in the first place. Not that knowing that meant the Varia would drop the grudge; they'd killed people for less after all.

The next letter he picked up was from the old fart –he could feel the Flames on it– so he incinerated it unopened without so much as glancing at the front. "Whoops," he deadpanned as he brushed the ashes off his fingers; if it had been official a messenger would have brought it, and having a personal letter vanish in the postal system was not uncommon so he could honestly say he'd not seen it.

After that there were a handful of late-arriving birthday cards –from his non-local Superbi half-siblings– and four identical envelopes bearing the seal and watermark of Vongola Legal.

Xanxus glared suspiciously at the array of crisp, creamy legal stationary for a full second before cautiously slitting the top envelope and drawing the folded pages out.

"… shark."

"Yes Boss?"

Xanxus hurled the letter at him. "Read this."

His Rain did so, eyes darting this way and that across the page. "Looks pretty straightforward to me, Boss," the other man admitted eventually, looking up to meet his gaze. "Enrico left you shit in his will, you weren't there to hand it off to at the time so it went into storage, but now you're around again, so the executors have to arrange handover of physical items and transfer of funds."

Okay, clearly shark had considerably more experience of the legalities of inheritance procedures than he did, but Xanxus was still stuck on his hated 'eldest brother' leaving him _anything_. "Been out and about three years now," was what he actually said.

"Legal shit moves damn slow," shark said, shrugging. "Somebody probably brought it to their attention recently, or else it might have taken them even longer to remember you were owed stuff."

Xanxus grunted and waved a hand at his Rain, who obligingly handed the letter back. The Varia Boss tried to read the printed words again, but his eyes kept getting drawn to the neat little table taking up the bottom of the first page and the bulk of the second page, which contained a litany of things Enrico had owned that Xanxus had been deeply jealous of as a child. Quinto's katar, which the oldest Vongola son had been given for his eighteenth birthday; the full set of incredibly rare and expensive chemistry and geology texts that Enrico had bought while studying for his doctorate in gemology, along with his entire travel lab; the display case of fossils that had so fascinated Xanxus when he was eight and that Enrico had only let him look at to get him to shut up about them; a box of survey and geological maps that were valued rather low but that Xanxus knew had been pulled out repeatedly whenever the oldest Vongola sibling wanted to argue with his father about the prospective location of a new business or Alliance construction project; controlling shares in a prominent local chocolate company that had provided Enrico with a seemingly bottomless supply of free treats; a blanket that Grandma had stitched for her oldest grandson before he was even born.

All things that were his now; things Enrico had at some point decided to _give_ to him.

Xanxus had thought he knew how he felt about Enrico and now the fucker had to go and throw him off, despite having been dead for a decade. The self-important asshole.

Three more envelopes; one from Massimo, one from Federico and one from Grandma.

"Shark, I'm taking the morning off."

"Sure thing Boss," his Rain agreed, eyes darting briefly to the unopened letters. "Want me to have Information write a reply for Scooby?"

"Offer Thursday, mid-afternoon."

"Will do, Boss." Squalo left. Xanxus picked up the legal letters –one open and three still sealed– and left his office, curling up on his bed with Stripes, as he'd privately named the stuffed tiger Florrie had given him. Bester was lounging downstairs somewhere and sulking because Florrie wasn't close enough to visit anymore –something the liger had been doing on and off for over a year now– so he'd have to stick with petting the plush toy his Cloud had given him.

He'd call her later, once he knew what he was dealing with and she wasn't in class anymore.

* * *

"Hello Xanxus!"

Xanxus did not bother with a greeting. "Turns out my brothers left me shit," he said bluntly into the phone.

Florrie got it. "Ah." A pause. "People are complicated."

"I was fine with hating them!" He paused. "Well maybe not _hating_ -hating them; disliking them and getting over myself on it." It had been much more straightforward before the legal letters arrived. Grandma leaving him stuff was easier to accept, if more painful to think about.

Florrie hummed.

"I thought they didn't like me?" Xanxus grumbled.

His Cloud sighed. "Xanxus, death makes things complicated. They may well _not_ have liked you, but they considered you to be family and preferred to try to keep their belongings _in_ the family rather than just accept they were all going to be chucked out or sold when they died. Or maybe they _did_ like you but were completely terrible at expressing it. Or maybe your being gone from their lives for a few years gave their memories of you a rosy-tinted glow; stranger things have happened."

Xanxus snorted at that last one; he'd experienced that for himself, catching himself thinking that maybe the arguments and sniping hadn't been _that_ bad. They really had; he was just over it now, so the memories didn't hurt like they used to.

"I mean, it could even have been to spite their father; people write stuff in their wills for all kinds of reasons," Florrie continued. "You're never going to know why unless they wrote you a letter, and even that only tells you what they think their reasons are or what they want you to believe the reasons are. _Whatever_ their reasons, those things are yours now. Do whatever you want with them."

Yes. That all made sense and was very practical. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome."

"People are Stupid."

His Cloud chuckled. "We're all Fallen and fallible and trying very badly to do our best, Xanxus."

Maybe. "Love you. Bye."

"Love you too; see you soon." She hung up.

Xanxus did likewise and put his phone down, then let his eyes drift back to the open letters lying on the mattress next to him. The problem with unpacking his issues and dealing with the bad shit he'd repressed was that it turned out there'd been a lot of good shit repressed as well. Well, less-bad shit anyway. These letters brought a lot of those less-bad things back to the surface and they were just as uncomfortable as the bad shit.

Massimo had done a lot to help him refine his Flame usage; the middle Vongola brother had the largest reserves of the trio and had given Xanxus lots of useful tips as well as instilled in him the importance of discipline and incremental improvements. Massimo hadn't really had any particular natural talents, but he'd been a hard worker and unafraid of putting in effort towards long-term goals.

Massimo had also been the 'rebellious sibling' up until Xanxus had come along and become the family hellion, but the old fart had not stopped disparaging his second son just because the feral foundling was even more badly behaved. Massimo had been looked down on for refusing to stop hanging around with the members of Housekeeping he'd grown up alongside despite now being adult, he'd been disparaged for wearing an open dress shirt over a vest rather than bothering with suits and ties, he'd been sighed at for being built like a weightlifter or bouncer rather than a dapper businessman and that his personal weapon was a pry bar had made the old fart lecture him regularly about his image. _You make the Vongola look like a pack of thugs, Massimo!_

Xanxus was now ashamed to admit he'd taken on some of the old fart's attitude there and looked down his nose at Massimo for 'behaviour not befitting a Vongola.' Like the old fart's standards meant shit. He'd also mocked Massimo's complete inability with politics, which he could now see was to do with Massimo being fairly straightforward and really disliking the amoral schmooze that was part and parcel of negotiating with rich assholes. Xanxus didn't like it either these days, but unlike Massimo he could actually _do_ it without letting his opinion of the people he was talking to seep into his attitude.

Massimo would have made a great underboss or even a good don of a smaller subordinate Famiglia, but Head of the Alliance? No chance. Whoever had killed him –which he'd pointedly not asked about yet– could even have been Alliance themselves, overreacting to a petty slight.

Enrico had been a snobbish asshole, but he'd goaded Xanxus to greater intellectual heights and never told him that he was 'too young' to understand technical stuff. It had been Enrico taking his side against the old fart when he wanted to learn more challenging things, although the asshole's argument had always been things like 'he acts up less when he's busy' and 'of course he's being a little shit, he's bored, give him something harder to learn' rather than any recognition that Xanxus was lonely as much as bored and wanted his family to pay attention to him, or at least do shit _with_ him.

It had also been Enrico who had –possibly inadvertently– taught him the importance of context; yes, new housing was all very well but don't build it on the river floodplain, you cretins. Yes, it's easy to build there and the land is cheap, but you'll be dealing with water damage and complaints every five to ten years and that's expensive and bad publicity in the long run. Context is everything; _why_ are they offering a good deal? What will change if we do the thing?

Enrico had also modelled political negotiation to him; he'd watched the oldest Vongola sibling laugh and flatter and charm and win concessions and change opinions with nothing more than empty words and resolved to do it _better_. Because he could twist people around with words too, but unlike Enrico he'd actually make promises and follow through with them, to the benefit of the wider Vongola even, rather than just using the skill to get everybody to agree with him.

Enrico hadn't given a shit about the people who made up the Alliance; he'd seen them as a necessary evil, idiots he had to string along for access to their money. If he'd ever actually put on the Vongola Ring it probably would have killed him, but he'd have made an excellent Head of Finance or diplomatic envoy. He'd been a shitty human being but there were lots of those everywhere; the Varia had plenty of them, although _they_ at least recognised their own shittiness most of the time.

Federico… as a kid he'd _loathed_ Federico, because the man was a shitty tease who unerringly found his hot buttons and punched them _hard_. As an adult he could grudgingly recognise that Federico had possessed an ego and self-image you could bounce rocks off due to his secure and privileged upbringing, so had thought Xanxus exploding at every little thing was ridiculous and over-sensitive. He'd been oblivious to Xanxus's insecurities and probably hadn't even noticed how much Xanxus detested him for constantly messing with him. In fact Federico had probably thought they got along great; that would explain why the man had always been inviting him along to things.

Which was incredibly ironic when Federico had been the Vongola brother with the best Intuition; clearly he'd been ignoring it where Xanxus was concerned, due to believing he knew better. Taking after his shitty father there.

Federico who'd been raised the family baby, had a knack for not getting caught, fought with a length of chain, loved dogs and was good at logistics and wringing concessions out of people, as well as somehow remembering everybody's names and family connections and what he'd talked about with them at the last party he'd seen them at. Federico who had never tried anywhere as hard as Enrico to win his father's approval, didn't blatantly defy the old fart's authority like Massimo and had actually been Vongola Heir at the time of his death; he'd have made a decent Don Vongola. A thousand miles better than Chew Toy was going to be, certainly, despite the tendency to turn up the charm every time he glimpsed a pretty female face.

Squalo had told him the Varia still didn't know who had killed Federico. Which implied they _did_ know who'd killed the older two, but Xanxus had just nodded and not asked; he didn't really care. They were dead; knowing who'd done it wouldn't change things.

Florrie was right; people were complicated.

* * *

The Tuesday after his birthday was Chew Toy's seventeenth; the countdown to trash's ascension to Don Vongola was now ticking in earnest, since the old fart was unlikely to wait much more than another year. Chew Toy probably wasn't expecting it to be that soon; Japan had twenty as the age of majority, so trash likely assumed he had much more time than was actually the case. Sucked to be him; he'd either catch on or get horribly surprised come next autumn.

Xanxus was only reminded of it being trash's birthday because the old fart organised a traditional Vongola birthday party and had Chew Toy shipped over for it along with all his Guardians; forewarning from Information meant he got out of the building in time to avoid getting dragged into that mess and spent a quiet day at the Cavallone instead, going over Mafia Land paperwork with Annamaria and signing his name on things. Horse didn't know he was there, having already left for the party, and his aunt had no idea what the party was for –she didn't do politics– so nobody bothered him at all.

In retrospect, the letter he'd incinerated the previous day had probably been an invite –summons more likely– to the party. However he'd not seen it so had a valid excuse for missing the event; not that Chew Toy would have wanted him attending anyway. He'd been _working_ even, for all that the 'work' had been setting up his retirement and next job.

On getting back to the Varia Tuesday evening he immediately grabbed his go-bag and took a short mission that some rich asshole was paying through the nose to have him do _personally_ , which kept him busy and out of contact until the early hours of Thursday morning. Then –after a long sleep and a good meal– it was time for the meeting with the Gesso contingent.

* * *

Squalo noted with interest that Mothra the Mist had been left at home, as had Bunny the Sun; Scooby had however brought Gamera and Carp along with the obvious Fresco. Not that those were their real names of course, but the floral and fruity names Scooby had saddled his Guardians with weren't their real names either so it didn't matter that the Varia had added new epithets to the mix.

Thinking of the Gesso Storm as 'Gamera' and sniggering inside his head at the monster movie parallels was helping Squalo not think about his fake-memories involving that particular individual. Carp was hanging over her Sky and pouting unhappily –probably didn't want to be here– Fresco was fiddling with his cufflinks in a deliberate fashion and not looking at Boss –the Cloud clearly didn't want to be here either– and Scooby was perched on the front edge of the armchair provided, Flame wings fluttering, absently petting his Rain's hair and grinning.

It was a flat grin though, pasted on top of some compartmentalisation and a certain degree of distractedness; interesting.

"So?" Boss asked from where he was sprawled commandingly in his armchair, Lussuria standing on the opposite side of it from Squalo to mirror Gamera. There was no third Guardian present to stand for Carp, but there didn't need to be; in a fight the three Varia could take down the four Gesso easily. Especially if that fight took place on Varia land, inside Mammon's Territory.

"I was out enjoying the fresh air," Scooby began –Squalo translated that as 'poking my nose where it wasn't wanted and avoiding Miss Spook'– "when I ran into a very interesting Lightning who made a good attempt at stringing me upside down from an electricity pylon."

Tesla. Squalo had only met the man twice, but there were stories about his time as Lightning Officer. The Division had gone massively downhill since then, although it was picking up a bit in Boss's personal care.

"After a few false starts I managed to get him to talk to me rather than just attempt murder," the gadfly Sky said airily, "but he wouldn't agree to proper conversation without his boss's permission. Considering his name and the distinctly Varia attitude, here I am."

Boss snorted, lips curling up in a smirk. "I may be Varia Boss," he said lightly, "but Tesla is retired from assassination; he does electrical engineering, troubleshooting and other handyman stuff for Housekeeping. Answers to Tyrant, not to me." Well technically Tesla was also part of the Cavallone-funded side-venture, but that was commission-based so Tesla was self-employed there and not under anybody else's authority.

The mention of the retired Sky's Name made Scooby go greenish white all of a sudden; well that was interesting. Had the mad Sky fallen foul of Tyrant in some of those simulations? It seemed rather likely, all things considered. In the fake-future Squalo remembered the Vongola had only been targeted fairly late in the game, after Scooby had a vast and layered network overseas to hide himself within. If he'd done that because attempts to take out the Vongola _first_ had led to him crossing some of Tyrant's lines without realising it… well. No wonder it had taken him so many repeats to perfect his world domination plan. Never mind the frustration of perfecting the timing so he'd have everything built and working in time so he could crush most of the Underworld by year eight, then move onto hunting the Vongola for year nine.

"How does a person go about arranging a meeting with the Head of Varia Housekeeping?" Scooby asked, recovering some of his colour; trash still looked ill though. That he was persevering regardless was curious; implied this wasn't just a whim. Or if it was, he was contrary enough to see it through to the bitter end.

Xanxus waved a hand; Squalo took that as his cue to lean over towards the bell pull and ring for service.

"Our guest would like a word with Tyrant," Boss drawled when the shift in the feel of the air indicated somebody was listening, "and drinks."

Watching Scooby watch Boss, who was smirking lazily and waiting patiently for the next stage of the show, was highly amusing for Squalo. The cracked Sky was smiling and slumped sideways with his chin propped on one hand and his ankles crossed, but one of his feet kept on twitching. Which was a fairly blatant tell of how nervous trash was.

Why exactly did Scooby want to have a 'conversation' –which could mean any number of things, layered– with Tesla? It could be pure bored mischief, a distraction and something to wave at Miss Spook to keep her ignorant of her schemes being uncovered, all the way through to the mad Sky wanting something in particular from the Lightning or recognising him from one or other of the myriad simulated timelines he remembered.

Considering that in some of those timelines Scooby had apparently been born a few decades earlier, there were all manner of possibilities.

The door opened and Squalo straightened automatically as the unmistakeable presence of the Head of Varia Housekeeping swept the room, followed by the man himself. Deceptively ageless and barely greying at the temples, Tyrant closed the door behind himself and walked silently up to the table separating the two seated Skies, setting out the drinks carried on his tray.

Xanxus immediately helped himself to the wine; Scooby however didn't touch his ice cream milkshake, eying at one might a tarantula. Freaked out that Tyrant had brought him something sweet that he actually wanted to drink as opposed to a more socially acceptable beverage? Expecting it to be poisoned? Tyrant didn't poison people; he either destroyed you with his hands or with his Flames. The man liked the personal touch.

"You had a question for my Head of Housekeeping," Boss prompted, smile vicious behind his wineglass.

The winged Sky fluttered his eyelashes. "I would like to get to know Tesla better; he insisted I ask you first."

Tyrant considered this statement. "Ask," he said softly.

Scooby smiled, eyes curving up into cheery crescents in what was clearly a deliberate effort to appear carefree. "May I please get to know Tesla better?"

"Why?"

"He's interesting!" The lunatic chirped.

Tyrant stared measuredly at Scooby until the plastic cheer had wilted significantly. "Why should I allow it?" he clarified calmly.

Going by the pause, that had not been an expected question. Well, that or Scooby had bitten his tongue on his initial answer.

"I…" the cracked Sky swallowed and began again, more quietly and surprisingly honestly, "he calls to me. I'd like to see if it goes anywhere."

Meaning Tesla had innate resonance with Scooby; the heck?! That was _not_ what Squalo had been expecting to hear. He didn't bellow though; Tyrant wouldn't appreciate it.

"If you push your Flames on him we will be having words," the Head of Varia Housekeeping said mildly.

Scooby nodded, but didn't say anything.

"You have my permission to approach him," Tyrant decided after a long pause. "You will however respect his boundaries and rejections; any complaints will be addressed instantly." And lethally; or at least with maximum terror and discomfort inflicted, up to and including with crippling injuries. Or possibly even a temporary death, as Tyrant had done on various previous occasions to people who irritated him, killing and resuscitating his victim three or four times before finally making their demise permanent.

"I understand." That was the most honest and truthful thing Scooby has said today, which indicated that yes, he _had_ met –and fallen foul of– Tyrant a time or two in simulation-time and found the experience educational.

"Good." Tyrant smiled ever so slightly. "Enjoy your milkshake." He left the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.

"Going to do as you're told?" Boss asked tauntingly, dipping his empty glass towards Scooby's untouched full one.

"It would be rude of me not to drink it after your staff have gone to so much effort to provide something that actually meets my personal preferences," the gadfly Sky replied, but his tone fell rather short of the intended mockery and landed in unease instead. His Guardians all looked a bit shaken too; Tyrant was like that.

"Yes, it would," Boss said deliberately, pouring himself some more wine and slumping back into his chair with excessively theatrical care, lightly glowing eyes boring holes in his guest.

Squalo watched the younger Sky reluctantly reach out and pick up his drink and wondered vindictively whether Scooby would throw it up later out of nerves. If so, it would serve him right.

* * *

Saturday started with an unexpected phone call.

"Florrie?"

"Er, nope, Chickie here," came the voice through the phone speaker, "I know it's late and short notice but can you and your pretty-boy friend make it over here for my sister's birthday? I'm trying to sort out a party she'll like and she'll like you being there."

Xanxus rolled his eyes. "I'm not dating her." Although the description of shark as his 'pretty-boy friend' could equally be 'pretty boyfriend' since the pauses there was slightly ambiguous.

"I know that! I mean, it's pretty clear she's not in love with you but she's still, like, super attached. And so are you; if she said yes to dating you'd be all over her in a hot second and you know it."

That was far _too_ perceptive from a civilian who'd not even seen him half a dozen times.

"But you're her friend despite that and that's cool, that's really cool and you being there would really make her day, so _please_ come to her birthday party? I've hired a room and there's going to be cake and tea and balloons and a buffet of savoury nibbles. Pleeease?"

"Who else are you inviting?" Because Florrie had said twelve guests, which meant there were another ten people coming to this thing, not including his Cloud and her sister.

"Becca and Bambi and their partners," Chickie said promptly, "and I had already sorted out for Silvia and Deborah to come over before I got the idea for a party –they're her friends from when we lived abroad– and then I'm going to ask some of her university friends, since I've nicked her phone to dig through while she's busy in the kitchen."

So the two high school friends he'd seen photos of –one married to her high school sweetheart, the other dating a nurse or possibly somebody else by now– two more of the girls he'd seen on her photo wall and another four people, possibly including some he'd met already. That was doable. He'd not given anybody connected to his Cloud his full name yet, so he could use this to debut his actual real civilian identity.

"Fine. Me and two others then," since Luss would make a terrible fuss if he wasn't allowed to come along. Bel didn't care and Mammon was far too busy enjoying themselves with the asset stripping, so they were out, and inviting non-Guardians to a civvie event was a bit much.

"Okay, three people," Chickie muttered, a pencil scratching. "The party starts at half-past one, I can give you the address and if you can, can you arrive on the actual day? Since your company owns her house so showing up early would ruin the surprise?"

"Can do," Xanxus drawled, amused despite it being before breakfast on a Saturday morning.

"Oh, and can you bring champagne or something? I'm not old enough and while Bambi's good with cocktails and mixed drinks those aren't exactly afternoon things and don't go with cake, and Florrie says you're an alcohol snob so if you get something everybody's going to like it."

Xanxus chuckled; his Cloud had probably used those exact words, too. "Sure, will do."

"Great. Brilliant! This is going to be a fantastic party!" Chickie enthused. "See you in a fortnight then!"

"Dress code?" He asked loudly before she could hang up.

"Ah, right. Erm… casual, I think? I mean, it's a surprise tea party, basically, so try to look nice without it being a suit or anything too formal."

"See you then."

"Bye!" She hung up. Xanxus briefly pondered the sanity of letting Lussuria loose on a civilian student party, then reminded himself that his Cloud's friend Bambi was very obviously a lesbian, so her other friends and associates were unlikely to be the kind of intolerant to ruin somebody else's birthday party for the sake of their own delicate sensibilities.

He was still going to take Florrie out a week after her birthday, of course; he'd promised to after all.

* * *

Squalo probably should have expected Springer to stop by the Varia while he was in the country, but in his defence he'd been engrossed in the logistics of moving over two hundred people and all their belongings –including various plants and pets– to the other side of the planet without anybody noticing what was going on until after the fact. Yes, Mists could do a _lot_ to speed the process along and smooth out difficulties, but it was still a massive project. As was setting up contacts so they could go on buying food and other necessities without going through Mafia Land's rip-off marketplace; it looked like the first post-Varia business they'd be setting up was a smuggling outfit.

Good thing Squalo knew how to run one of those, what with listening to various family members at the annual reunions; he was familiar with the difficulties and the requirements and how to account for weaknesses in the supply chain. Varia Housekeeping had a wide enough network that supplying food could continue to be done through them, but with Mists being sent regularly out to move the cargo rather than relying on regular shipping methods. It was all in the planning stages so far, but he had a good feeling about it. It was even something that could be turned into milk-run missions once the kinks had been worked out, safely entrusted to Apprentices and mooks rather than having to rely on Housekeeping's Mists.

Still, having his younger apprentice show up was a nice change of pace.

"See you survived the Vongola party, brat," the Rain Officer said casually, glancing up from his paperwork as Springer settled in the chair facing his desk. "Any casualties?" Nobody had ever died at Federico's birthday parties, but there had been a few choice humiliations; Enrico's parties on the other hand _had_ involved a body count. As had Nono's, for all that Nono usually arranged matters so at least one person who had committed actual crimes against the Vongola was tapped as a proxy gift-bringer. Massimo and Xanxus had both preferred to avoid all that nonsense entirely; Massimo, being an adult, had done so far more successfully. Xanxus's ninth birthday party wasn't _quite_ an Alliance-wide horror story, as his Sky had not been ignorant of what went on at Vongola birthday parties by that point, but deciding who got to live and who was going to die at _nine_ based on the sole criteria of 'how much do I like this gift' was deeply unsettling when you knew nothing else about the gift-giver's proxy. Not even relevant things such as whether any of them had actually committed crimes against the Vongola or if it was just that the Don fancied their wife or daughter and wanted them either dead or too cowed to protest, so had deliberately sent them with a mediocre gift.

It was one of those things that got increasingly horrifying in retrospect.

His apprentice blinked vaguely at him. "I hadn't realised 'the lowest scoring person dies' was a _real_ thing the Vongola did," the teenager said quietly. "I thought it was just Reborn messing with us. I mean, nobody _actually_ died after that party despite Lambo only getting one point. But then Ganache showed up last month to let us know Tsuna was getting a traditional Vongola birthday party for his seventeenth and we had to have appropriate gifts ready so as not to put Tsuna in a tight spot, and the party last week…" he trailed off. "It was all lower-ranking people delivering gifts from Dons and House Heads. They were all terrified; only Dino came in person."

"How did Chew Toy take it?" Clearly he hadn't embarrassed himself too badly, or else the Rain Officer would have heard about it already.

Springer smiled, the expression vaguely proud. "He gave every single gift the exact same score; fifty points. So either everybody won or everybody lost, so nobody got a prize and nobody died."

Squalo grinned; so trash was finally using his brain then. "Sneaky." Actually demonstrating some intelligent thought too, getting around the rules like that.

"Nono mentioned Xanxus was invited, so I said I'd ask why he hadn't showed when I visited," Springer added. "Is he around?"

"He is," Squalo agreed, "but he didn't show because he didn't get an invite." Well not that anybody could prove; certainly nobody had _seen_ an invite. That Boss had incinerated an envelope from Don Vongola in front of him was beside the point. After all, it could just have easily have been a birthday card that Boss had burnt, and the actual invite really _had_ gone astray somewhere.

"Get lost in the post?" That gleam in his Apprentice's eye made it clear he suspected the 'loss' had been strategic. "I think Tsuna might actually have had a breakdown if Xanxus had showed up at his birthday party. Or even just sent a gift with one of you guys."

"All turned out for the best then," Squalo said briskly. "How're you managing at detecting Flames and working without your Ring?"

"Dad says I've improved," Springer said brightly, "and so does Chrome, but I don't think I'm anywhere good enough yet."

"Voi, of course you won't be," Squalo dismissed, "it takes years to get genuinely good at this; _I've_ been working on it for over a decade now. Yes, talent helps, but hard work's what matters most. Keep working and you'll keep improving; let me finish up here and we'll head downstairs so you can show me where you've got to. There are more useful precision exercises I can teach you once you've reached a certain level of competence; learning's incremental after all, and there are different ways to refine your skills depending on what you actually want to achieve." Squalo would be passing on his own personal exercises, since they gave him the skills appropriate for a Right Hand and Springer would need those same skills.

"Thanks, sempai," the brat said cheerfully. "I've been practicing my English too."

"I can tell." His Apprentice's accent was more coherent and he was putting the stress on the right parts of the words now; his sentence structure was also much better. "Now shut up and let me finish." He needed to go through the scheduling for the move, to make sure none of the things being left until last required any of the items being taken away first.

* * *

"Voi, you're making decent progress," Squalo ruled eventually, nudging his prone and wheezing apprentice in the gut with his foot. "None of that; on your feet, trash."

"Chased me fifteen kilometres around the grounds, sempai," Springer gasped, but he did stagger to his feet, arms and legs trembling with the effort of staying upright. "At least."

It had been more like thirty kilometres actually, all up and down the hill; brat hadn't done so badly. "Need to work on your endurance," Squalo said firmly; "can't protect your Sky if you can't keep up."

"Yes sempai." The seventeen-year-old swayed.

"Voi, that's enough for today," Squalo decided; they could work on Flame control while exhausted another time. Today had been his first time really pushing brat's limits, so he knew where they were and how his skills deteriorated when he was exhausted. "Take a cold shower, then run a hot bath; you'll be all aches and pains tomorrow otherwise." He'd have to keep an eye on Springer to make sure he didn't fall asleep in the tub after this. Sort out a generous meal from Housekeeping too; he'd need the protein to rebuild his muscles.

Springer nodded, took a tentative step towards down the hill and stumbled; rolling his eyes, Squalo caught the brat and hefted him over his shoulder. "Voi, do you even know your limits?" He complained; he'd not thought he'd gone _that_ far but clearly he had. "You could have said you were running on fumes; I'm teaching you, not killing you."

"Sorry sempai," brat wheezed.

"Are you going to remember your limits next time and tell me when you hit them?" Squalo demanded, gently nudging his student's head with his elbow.

"Yes, sempai."

"Good." There was no point in working yourself to breaking point in training; it meant you needed longer to recover and you didn't progress in the meantime. Training was working with your limits; emergencies was when you disregarded them. "I'm carrying you back to my office and dumping you in the shower; wash sitting down so you don't fall over." Which was something various Varia _had_ done; it was a depressingly common source of concussions as well as the occasional death, especially in September.

Springer groaned something that was probably intended to be agreement; rolling his eyes, Squalo set off down the hill. He was going to set his student a lot more endurance training after this, so he didn't keel over before he'd even run a marathon and learned to pace himself. He should also teach Springer to augment his strength with Flames, but that could wait until brat's endurance was better, so he didn't cheat. He wasn't about to enable bad habits like that in his student.

* * *

After a wash, quarter of an hour in a hot bath and a generous meal of baked fish with roast vegetables Springer was yawning and blinking sleepily, but seemed to have something on his mind he wanted to address before taking a nap.

"Spit it out then, voi."

His student looked thoughtfully at him. "Tsuna says you hate him," Springer said mildly.

"Hate's a strong word," Squalo deflected; he'd never cared about or believed in Chew Toy enough to hate him until recently. "I never liked him and I know he's going to ruin everything my Family's spent generations building alongside the Vongola." He hadn't _hated_ the trash until having to spend all that time in bed after his heart transplant; that was when it had become personal. Chew Toy crippling the Varia with his ignorance and presumed moral high ground had just made the personal loathing easier to justify.

"You do hate him," Springer noted.

"Voi! So what?" It wasn't like he was letting it interfere with his work.

"I guess if somebody nearly got me killed and then trashed my career without even noticing I'd hate them too," the irritating brat mused. "Especially if they very obviously didn't care about either and were instead focused on getting what they wanted out of both situations."

Brat's tone was light and easy but the subtext was anything but. "Voi, are you talking about Chew Toy or Reborn?"

Springer laughed, light and fake and bitter. "I guess Reborn being around constantly for the past four years means he's become Tsuna's main role-model. I mean, it's not like there are any other adults in his life motivating him to do better."

One more reason why putting Chew Toy in charge of the Vongola was a profoundly shitty idea; Reborn was a freelancer, not a leader, and one of the mean but occasionally true things said about freelancers was that they were freelance because nobody else could stand working with them for more than a few weeks at a time.

"Tsuna at least cares that you hate him," the younger Rain continued pensively. "He's paying a lot more attention to what people are saying now and looking in the Vongola's records for details of decisions made by past dons and how they worked out. He was asking various people about how they would get Flame tutoring if they needed it during his birthday and scribbling down notes afterwards; I told him you were tutoring me officially." Springer paused to yawn. "I also told him what you said about most people keeping it in the family, and adoption. He wanted to know why the Vongola only trains Guardian candidates."

"It's cheaper and easier," Squalo said succinctly. "Vongola traditions say each Guardian needs a specific skill set –there's that ridiculous poem I'm sure you've heard that Primo supposedly wrote– so Vongola tutors only need to train those specific skills into their students. Training non-Guardians would mean tailoring lessons to their students' personal aptitudes and ambitions, which takes more time and effort and would mean hiring more teachers. Then arranging Vongola employment for all those people afterwards, so they can use their skills to benefit the Family; there are already slots in the infrastructure where Guardian-trained people can fit." As medics, meat-shields, negotiators, trailblazers, secrecy specialists and roving quality control. Personal lack of aptitude or interest be damned.

The Tenth Vongola Rain Guardian nodded. "That makes more sense than what Nougat said."

"Voi, want a sensible perspective, ask Ganache." Ganache was the youngest and most grounded in the present of Nono's Guardians, largely because he was a Sunny Lightning and everybody ignored him on the basis that Lightnings were meat-shields. Never mind that Ganache had been raised a Sun –had even started in Sun-style Guardian training alongside Luss– and only switched to Lightning training as a teenager shortly after Activating his Flames. He heard a lot; didn't talk a lot, but a fellow Vongola Guardian would probably be enough to get him to loosen his tongue.

"Thanks sempai, I will." Another yawn.

"Vooi, take a nap; you're making me tired just looking at you."

"You don't mind me borrowing your sofa, sempai?"

"If I minded I'd have kicked you out by now," Squalo grumbled. "Drop off already so I can get on with the paperwork."

His apprentice chuckled and closed his eyes, relaxing back into the cushions. Squalo waited ten minutes, by which point brat's breathing had deepened and evened out, then settled behind his desk and pulled out the logistics forms again. Even if Chew Toy was finally making an effort to be slightly less of a dead weight, it was far too late for it to make a meaningful difference to the Varia's plans.

* * *

Xanxus was vetting missions –read 'deciding which ones the Varia would be taking on given the imposed limits'– and not enjoying it when there was a knock on his office door and a Sun stuck their head inside.

"Boss, the Don Cavallone to see you on a family matter."

Welcoming the distraction, the Sky abandoned his paperwork and headed downstairs. Horse was in the small guest study, along with… two Superbi. So his little brother had managed to form a few bonds; good to know. That he hadn't brought his Right Hand was interesting though; something horse wanted to keep secret perhaps?

"Hi Xanxus," Dino said once he was in the room and had closed the door behind him. "I think you already know Dingo and Caretta."

"Vaguely," the Varia Boss drawled; Dingo he knew better than Caretta, because Dingo was Aunt Volpe's oldest and therefore part of what the Superbi called his 'closer cousins,' along with Sciacallo, Iena, Orsina, Ursula, their various siblings and all his cat-named cousins. Plus the shark and his fellow fishy-named relatives, of course; coming up on two-dozen people vaguely his age in total and that was just the ones within two or three degrees of him.

Caretta he had a feeling was one of Testudo's kids; there was a certain resemblance. Of course in a family as close-knit as the Superbi there was _always_ a certain resemblance, but this one was more distinct than usual. She was a Sun, like Testudo, had a lot of him in the shape of her face and shoulders, and also had that keen feel that Suns got when their Flames were more focused on the intellectual than the physical.

Physical Suns might throw themselves into things without thought and cause all kinds of mess, but intellectual Suns frequently got themselves into even stickier situations _because_ they had taken the time to think things through and consider the possibilities. Generally entirely on purpose, because they were bored; Reborn was by no means atypical in that respect.

"Hi there cousin," Dingo drawled as Caretta wiggled her fingers at him without looking up from her psychology textbook.

"Cousins, horse," Xanxus said amusedly, settling himself comfortably in the free armchair. "What's the occasion?"

"I thought I should let you know I've found our last missing sibling from that family tree you sorted out," Dino shared. "He's thirty-one and paraplegic; a traffic accident when he was fifteen. His adopted family are taking good care of him, but he wants to be more independent so I'm arranging a house. He lives well outside Alliance territory so I'm keeping everything quiet and operating through reasonably official channels." Horse opened his mouth to continue, then stuttered to a halt when a cat appeared from under the heavy curtains by the window and leapt proprietorially into his lap, yowling demandingly.

Dino offered the cat his hand, then as it settled started petting it behind the ears, prompting loud purring.

"You were saying?" Xanxus asked, amused. Going by the silver coat and loud vocalisations this was Banshee, who was way out on the imperiously intelligent end even for a Varia cat. She was also one of the few who looked completely normal; most of the Varia's cats were very obviously hybridised with non-domestic felines, being too big, too exotic and not nearly friendly enough to pass.

"He's called Giacomo and he's a Sky –an Active Sky even, for all he's never manifested it externally and probably never will– and he's got a full set of Guardians and a girlfriend," horse continued, "and his Guardians were already planning on buying a house together so he could live with them, so my providing one out of 'family feeling' is something he's not objecting to. In fact I think he likes the idea of it being _his_ house, so he feels less of a burden. Having a house might also prompt him to propose to his girlfriend, but I'm unsure of the details there; I do know he has a job –he writes articles for a local newspaper– and one of his Guardians deliberately trained as a carer in order to offer qualified domestic help, so he's unlikely to struggle."

"Putting extra security on the house," Xanxus assumed; a Sky was a Sky and Active Skies were fairly visible, for all that a disabled and largely house-bound Sky would manage to stay under the radar better than most.

"Of course; with our private security firm even," Dino confirmed. "He's not got much in the way of reserves, so it's most obvious in the way his friends and adoptive family react to him; the Guardian with carer training is his adoptive brother, a Latent Lightning and completely thoughtlessly devoted in a way that most civilians would consider unhealthy." His hand moved to scratch Banshee under her chin. "I've also found all the women our father seduced and handed over the last of the photographs, as well as made a note of which one was Giacomo's mother, in case he's ever curious. She was sixteen like your mother; I'm not surprised she gave him up for adoption."

It was a little odd that Giacomo's mother had _succeeded_ in giving her son up for adoption; Sky babies were anecdotally much harder to relinquish, since even when Latent their Flames predisposed them towards forming strong bonds with those closest to them. Well maybe she'd been depressed or something; it happened and family pressure was a hell of a thing.

"Good to hear," Xanxus said. "Good to see you're finally bonding too, pony."

His little brother's complaint of "Xanxus!" was overlaid with Dingo sniggering and Caretta's loud snort; both Superbi would take the nickname and run with it, which would be funny.

"I'm tempted to withhold your birthday present after that," horse sighed, "but I like to think I'm a better person than you are." He reached back and accepted the gift bag Caretta handed to him. "Here, happy belated birthday you complete asshole."

"Thank you," Xanxus rumbled, accepting the bag and opening the presents right away. There was a selection of uncut but high quality gemstones, a bar of his favourite chocolate and a dozen cloth patches marked with the Cavallone crest.

The patches were clearly intended to go on his Varia jackets and coats after he retired and had to take the official insignia off. That was something he'd not really thought about but was very touched by, because Dino clearly _had_ thought about it and had taken steps to make sure there was no doubt where he belonged.

"Thanks," he said shortly, sliding the various gifts into his jacket pockets.

"You're very welcome Xanxus," Dino said lightly, looking rather like a Bond villain with his knowing smirk and lap full of silver-and-white longhair cat. "Try to visit slightly more often, if you would? You are now officially the 'cool' cousin and both Denise and Demetrio want to do things with you."

That was not what he'd been expecting, but he could roll with it. "Work permitting." A fairly feeble excuse considering the restrictions on missions, but it would give him some thinking space and time to call Florrie so he could get his feelings straight.

"Of course," his annoying little brother agreed with a knowing grin, getting to his feet and setting Banshee on the floor, where she twined around his calves and rubbed her head vigorously against his knees. "I'll see you soon then."

"Don't trip down the steps on your way out," Xanxus drawled meanly after him, taking great satisfaction in the way Dino's ears went red as he walked past his chair and through the door.

* * *

Squalo had noticed a few errors and was most of his way through adjusting the furniture shipping order so kitchen appliances were split with half going in the first quarter and half at the very end, with a note in red specifying that at least a third of the fridges and hot plates had to be included in the 'going last' shipment, when his phone rang.

"Varia Rain Officer speaking," he said briskly, most of his attention on ensuring that Boss's furniture would be shipped to Mafia Land on the solstice. If Boss ended up staying later than that he'd crash in Squalo's bed, but most likely he was going to be out of the country before the morning after the Vongola Solstice Ball.

"Ah Squalo, I seem to have accidentally picked up a cat."

Squalo side-eyed the phone. "Voi, why's that my problem, Bronco?"

"It's a Varia cat," Dino said, "and it's –ow!– it refuses to go back into the car."

Squalo sighed, glancing over at Springer to make sure he was still asleep then pulling up a sound-muffling Rain-layer to ensure he wouldn't disturb his student. "Describe the cat."

"Silver-grey with a white chest and feet, long fur, not as big as most of the cats I've seen wandering around the Varia," Dino said, "and loud." There was promptly a very piercing feline wail, justifying the latter comment entirely.

"Green eyes, long tail, regular cat-sized body, ear tufts, has this _look_ that says she thinks you're a complete moron?"

A startled pause. "Yes," Dino admitted cautiously.

"That's Banshee," Squalo said confidently. "I'll send somebody over with her basket and other shit."

"What? Squalo no I can't keep her!"

"People don't 'keep' cats, voi," the Rain Officer said dryly; "people are graced with the presence of cats. Banshee has decided you are worthy of her patronage; suck up and deal." Banshee was smart enough to make her own way back to the Cavallone even if removed, so there was no point in trying to make her leave. It wouldn't work, she'd be pissed off and everybody involved would get both scratched and deafened. If she wanted Bronco as her human minion then the easiest thing to do was let her get on with things. "Don't worry, she's very smart; if she wants anything, you'll know." Banshee was not even _slightly_ shy about expressing her desires.

"That sounds like a Superbi Family metaphor I probably shouldn't look too deeply into."

Squalo rolled his eyes, amused despite himself. "Vooi! She's a good cat. Not randomly destructive when she's bored and very affectionate. She's fixed too, so you won't have any sudden kitten problems. If you decide you actually _want_ kittens though get in touch; the fixing's a Mist-trick, so we can temporarily reverse it." What else should Dino know… "Housekeeping have her family tree somewhere, so you can know what she's a mix of if you're interested." There was a quartet of people who were responsible for all Varia animal husbandry, which included meticulously updating the cat family trees whenever Tyrant gave his permission to temporarily lift the Mist-fixing on a few cats to produce litters.

"That would be very helpful, thank you," Bronco said distantly. "What do I _do_ with a cat?"

"You don't; you go along with what the cat wants to do with you." Didn't everybody know that? "Enjoy yourself." Squalo hung up.

Banshee was definitely a very smart cat, to have noticed already that things were changing at the Varia and that it was a good time to move on. Most of the genuinely big cats were getting taken with them –there wasn't anywhere else they could safely be left– but the rest were getting adopted locally by retired Varia, or left to fend for themselves in the case of the stable cats, which were not at all domesticated and kept the outbuildings aggressively pest-free.

Squalo made a note of what he'd promised Bronco before going back to the logistical paperwork. Well, at least that was one less cat to worry about.


	4. Chapter 4

This is the last chapter I've got written up; the rest of the story will be added once it's properly finished. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

Florrie went horse riding on half her Saturday mornings and this was one of them, so it was in fact possible to arrive and unload all their bags without tipping her off as to their arrival. So long as everything got left in upstairs rooms and they stayed out of her flat; Xanxus found that harder than it should have been, because dumping his case on her bedroom floor was a well-established habit by this point. Thankfully Squalo had said something about 'hiding everything upstairs,' but the amused side-eye he'd got indicated his Rain knew very well that without a reminder he'd probably have done something embarrassing, like walk in her front door as usual.

His other Guardians passed it off as Squalo being his usual loud and somewhat controlling self, or at least pretended to well enough that Xanxus didn't feel the urge to hit any of them for making fun of him. He'd thought only Lussuria and the shark would be joining him for this, but Mammon had decided they wanted to give birthday presents in person this year and Bel had wanted to spend time with Mammon so he was here too. They were not however coming to the party; Bel didn't want to attend a 'peasant event' and Mammon disliked being around strangers who treated them like a child, so they were lying low until Florrie left for her surprise party, then moving to the downstairs common room to do whatever. Mammon would want to stay in and do free things, but Bel might decide to take the Mist out to a coffee shop and buy cake.

It was raining, so sitting in the garden was sadly not an option. It looked very good though; the plants had all settled in and there was a definite and very pleasing structure to it, despite it still being a bit bare here and there and the fruit trees still being saplings.

Xanxus left most of the presents they'd brought behind at the house –a surprising number of Varia had shoved gifts for Florrie at Squalo and Luss– since he was planning on giving her those tomorrow, in a more private setting. The party was about food and socialising, not about giving a bunch of civvies the opportunity to gawk at what the Varia considered appropriate to give their Boss's Cloud.

He did take the wine though; he'd brought fizzy dessert wine, which Florrie actually liked, and Marsala, which she also liked despite having to be careful not to drink much at a time. His Cloud was a very giggly lightweight; also a very cuddly lightweight. He'd even brought Campari and a sweet vermouth for aperitifs, and gone digging for Florrie's parents' home phone number –which had taken a good long while because they were ex-directory; he definitely approved– to make sure Chickie bought soda water.

His Cloud wasn't a big fan of mixed drinks, but she did drink them sometimes and other people would probably want something a bit less sweet to go with their food.

He was also rather curious about the other people he was going to be meeting; he'd only met Florrie's university friends and acquaintances so far rather than any of her more established connections. They were probably also going to be curious about him, which was why he'd settled on a story –a truthful if not entirely complete one even– to establish his civilian identity with. Xanto Cosimo Cavallone would soon be a real person, rather than just a paper construct; it was a bit strange, being a real person with a real identity outside the Underworld. He had a birth certificate, legal parents, exam records and everything; he even had funny family stories of silly things various cousins had said and done.

Was this how normal people felt? Grounded, but also slightly apprehensive that all that baggage would come back to bite them at some point? It was almost uncomfortable how memorable he was now; not just physically but as a person with connections and history. He had relatives who were in phonebooks and ran businesses, who could be found and who would talk about him if asked. To civilians even! It was intensely strange.

In a good way though; having a proper civilian identity would protect Florrie, as there would be fewer suspicious absences in his personal history for people to notice. It would also disassociate his civvie identity from his Underworld persona, because absolutely nobody was going to look for the Head of the Varia at a student birthday party and anyone who thought themselves knowledgeable would disbelieve the concept on principle, even if provided with moderately recognisable photographs.

Nodding at the shark so he picked up the bottle crate and checking that Luss had grabbed the token gifts that would be suitable to open publically, Xanxus headed back out to their hired car, idly tossing the keys in the air. He was actually looking forward to this.

* * *

The party finally wrapped up around six, when people realised they wanted to have a proper dinner rather than more scones and cake and started leaving. Specifically the married couple left; everybody else stuck around to divvy up the remains of the food.

Over the past few hours Xanxus had made friendly conversation with everybody, learned all their names, had acquired a range of funny stories involving Florrie at various ages and had been complemented on the alcohol selection at least twenty times. It was the best party he'd been to in _years_ and that was kind of ridiculous in a sad way. A tiny student party organised by a seventeen-year-old for her antisocial Cloud of a big sister turning twenty-one was the best event he'd been to since coming out of the ice.

On a brighter note, Bambi was _hilarious_ and her utterly unflappable nurse girlfriend was a delight. Xanxus would put money on them being in a civil partnership within the year, but only if Marzieh proposed first; Bambi while utterly delightful and a hysterical conversationalist was amusingly oblivious to her girlfriend being completely serious about her. Possibly because she was so hopelessly smitten her brain melted into incoherence every time Marzieh smiled in her general direction. He'd even managed to have a fun conversation about food in Farsi with the Iranian nurse, which had been amusing.

They were a very cute couple and he was positive Luss had their phone numbers.

Surprising Florrie had been great fun; she'd actually squealed when she saw the room was full of friends –some of whom she apparently hadn't seen in years– and while she'd thrown herself at Deborah and Silvia first, hugging both fiercely and babbling happily in between kisses, she'd thrown himself and him –and shark and Luss– right afterwards.

He'd already introduced himself to everybody who hadn't met him yet –establishing his identity– and once again, it had turned out Florrie had been talking about him to her other friends. Nice things, if occasionally slightly embarrassing things; he'd not known that the reason Florrie was so much calmer riding the motorbike with him now was that she kept her eyes shut half the time. He didn't drive _that_ recklessly, did he?

Shark had laughed in his face when Becca had shared that titbit; Xanxus had got back at him for it later.

On another amusing note, 'how we met' stories involving Florrie came in exactly two flavours. There was 'I saw her and she looked interesting' or 'I wanted to get to know her better for X reason' and then there were the occasions where Florrie had introduced herself, which were invariably improbable and intensely Cloudy. Jen, who'd been –literally– picked up in a bar and carried back to Florrie's flat because his friend had noticed a total stranger being drugged, scared off the perpetrators and taken the woman home with her. Sally, who shared a house with some other friends a few blocks away and had been randomly offered cake on her way back there one afternoon because Florrie had been on a baking frenzy and made far more than she could ever eat, so had resorted to accosting people in the street to get rid of some of it. Silvia, who hadn't wanted to have her photo taken on a high school trip but had been confronted by a very calm and earnest classmate she'd never actually had a conversation with before informing her that everybody _would_ be photographed, so she could either accept her fate and pose, or else put up with being surreptitiously stalked all week.

Silvia had caved instantly, recognising the gleam in Florrie's eye for what it was, then spent the rest of the week enjoying watching as her less perspicacious camera-shy classmates were repeatedly ambushed.

Getting context for some of the photos on his Cloud's wall was half the fun of meeting Florrie's other friends; having to reciprocate with semi-censored stories about the photos of _him_ was also surprisingly painless. Getting to tease the shark about the picture Florrie had on her wall of him wearing a hand-towel –taken in a hotel when the Rain Officer's fellow assassins had used up all the towels and not sorted out more– had also been a highlight; making Squalo squawk was always fun and he'd deserved it for laughing over the motorbike thing.

The food had been good, Florrie had liked all her presents and the venue was small but well laid-out; he'd had a good afternoon.

Xanxus had just noticed that Luss had taken over command of parcelling out the remaining food when Florrie wandered over to lean into him.

"Tired?" He asked.

"Feeling peopled out," his Cloud admitted, fingers playing with her new bracelet as she stared sightlessly at the floor.

"Let's get you home then," Xanxus decided. "Shark can grab your presents."

There was a put-upon huff from his other side, but Squalo did head across the room to grab the gift bags.

"Luss won't take many moments on the food," Xanxus continued quietly, "and then we can bail. Chickie set this up, she can wrap up." More to the point, he knew that as soon as most of the guests had left the seventeen-year-old would be calling her parents to help with the tidying up. Bambi would also be helping; the only reason Becca hadn't stayed to help too was that she was pregnant and had been excused.

"Sure?"

"She's organised, she'll have a plan."

"Kay," Florrie murmured, leaning her face into his shirt and closing her eyes. Xanxus tugged lightly on her braid then wrapped an arm snugly around her waist; it was really nice to be trusted like this.

* * *

"Mammon and Bel are here too," Xanxus remembered to mention as Squalo drove them back to the safehouse. "Wanted to see you on your birthday, since the rest of us were coming along."

Florrie side-eyed him with impressively layered intent.

"No, we are in no way expecting you to do _anything_ tonight," he added quickly; "I thought I could cook you breakfast tomorrow and then you could open all your Varia gifts. Or we can wait until you're back from church, if that's what you'd rather."

His Cloud made a pensive noise in her throat, then subsided into thoughtful silence. Xanxus waited patiently for her to make a decision.

"Presents at breakfast," she decided eventually. "It's an easy lunch: made Irish stew this morning, just needs to go in the oven before church."

"Leave me the timing and I'll sort it," Xanxus promised; it would be stupidly easy since all he had to do was take the stew out of the fridge, turn the oven to the appropriate temperature, put the pan in and wait.

Florrie hummed again, snuggling into his side. "Thanks for coming," she said quietly. "Know you're all busy right now."

"It's our pleasure, honey," Luss said warmly from the front seat, half-turning to smile at his fellow Guardian. "I know I've missed seeing you and it's no trouble really; everything's more or less organised now, so it's just a matter of making sure everything happens to schedule. Well, basically; there's plenty of wiggle room built in." Timeliness was not a particularly Italian virtue, for all it was definitely a Varia one.

"That reminds me," Florrie said quietly, "I can't have anybody over for Christmas this year; my grandma's cancer's come back and it metastasised, so we're visiting her. Doctors don't think she's going to see far past mid-January, if that." She paused. "New Year's fine though."

Xanxus gently squeezed his Cloud around the middle, reaching up with his other hand to brush loose wisps of hair out of her face. "Sorry to hear that. Will definitely visit; could stay longer, since there won't be any work for a while." Well there might be some, but most of the Varia would probably want to spend the first few months of their retirement kicking back and enjoying their newfound leisure time. It would take a while for them to start getting bored of Mafia Land's various entertainments, so he could afford to take a few weeks off. Even those few mooks who'd decided to tag along rather than go back home were unlikely to make trouble.

"It would be nice to have company," Florrie agreed quietly.

Xanxus kissed her on the top of the head. "Settled then. And I'll be here next weekend too, as promised."

"But you're here now?"

"Said I'd be here next weekend; booked it and everything."

The huff and rueful smile were very encouraging, considering the turn the conversation had taken. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Then Squalo was turning the car into the driveway in front of the house, so the conversation ended in favour of climbing out of the car and dashing through the rain into the building.

* * *

Xanxus didn't let the rest of his Guardians into his Cloud's flat until she'd eaten the first half of her breakfast, showered, dressed and settled in to eat the crepes he'd made for the second half of breakfast. Even then he asked first; it wasn't his house after all and Florrie was clearly still recovering from the previous day's party. His Cloud was not the most social individual and one night's sleep was not necessarily enough recovery time for an introvert to feel up to dealing with people again.

"Shall I let them in?"

His friend chewed her mouthful a bit longer and swallowed. "Well I do want those presents," she admitted candidly, "so yes. So long as nobody expects me to be hospitable."

"That's fine," Xanxus said easily; it was breakfast time and his other Guardians knew better than to expect a Cloud to step out of their comfort zone for them. "Another pancake?" Florrie called crepes pancakes; he wondered what she called American-style pancakes.

"Please."

Xanxus tipped the shallow pan so the crepe slid onto Florrie's plate, then turned off the heat and walked towards the flat's front door, fluctuating his Flames in a meaningful pattern as he did so. There was a thumping on the stairs as he opened the door and shark stuck his head out of the common room opposite. Seeing as Florrie had been in an antisocial mood last night, the Rain had slept upstairs rather than joining them in her bed.

"Morning Xanxus," shark drawled. "Time?"

"Come sit down," Xanxus said as Luss emerged from the kitchen with a tray and Bel arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Mammon floating after him.

Everybody settled themselves: Bel sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, Mammon piling up cushions on a dining chair to sit up across from Florrie, Squalo settling on the arm of the sofa, Luss sitting in the dining chair closest the front door and Xanxus sat in the last free chair at the table, picking up his coffee. "So, presents," he announced.

He'd made an executive decision considering the sheer volume of presents, so most of them were waiting until after lunch, but there was time enough to open all the personal ones before Florrie headed out for morning service.

"The prince will start," Bel announced, handing his gift to the shark, who handed it across to Xanxus to pass to Florrie. She opened it carefully –evidently not wanting to tear the fancy embossed paper– to reveal a DVD box and two CDs. "A… history of Germany in castles?" she translated tentatively, picking up the DVD; Xanxus leaned over to glance at the German.

"Close enough." The subtitle proclaimed it to offer insights into the political and social happenings of the Holy Roman Empire across the centuries.

"And two audio books," Florrie continued, looking down at the CDs. "Child and house stories?"

" _Kinder und Hausmärchen_ ," Bel corrected snootily, "translates more correctly as 'Children's and Household tales,' and is by the Brothers' Grimm. The _original_ stories, not the later censored ones; most adults have no appreciation whatsoever of what children actually enjoy." He paused. "Although the second CD _does_ have a lot of stories from other sources, many of which are not originally German, but I felt you would at least not struggle to understand them."

"Meaning my language comprehension in German is on par with an eight-year-old, maybe," Florrie deduced wryly, "and that my pronunciation is likely dire."

" _I_ did not say that, peasant."

"No, you just implied it very loudly," the Cloud said humorously. "It's fine; I'm not proud. Not in this at least; thank you, I'll enjoy listening to them."

Bel nodded smugly.

"Me next I think honey bun," Luss said brightly, lifting a gift bag up from under the table and setting it in front of the Cloud. Florrie was considerably less careful with the paper this time; understandable when it was tissue.

"Oh wow," Florrie said a few seconds later, staring wide-eyed at the elaborately interlaced and segmented gold strip in her hands, "er, how do I?"

"It's a belt, honey," Luss said gently, "you can wear it over a dress or a shirt; it sits above the hips, as it's not intended to fit through belt loops."

Xanxus was very sure that was a traditional piece of Thai jewellery; he wondered if Luss had bought or commissioned it specially or whether this piece had a history.

"And earrings to match; oh they're _beautiful_ ," Florrie continued, opening the smaller gift. "I'm going to have to put my hair up, so I can wear these without them catching."

Luss was beaming and almost bouncing in his seat at how well his gift had gone down; Xanxus suspected that the Sun was mostly overjoyed to have somebody to hand who didn't object loudly when he tried to lavish expensive gifts on them. Luss loved looking after people, which occasionally involved buying them things; most of the Varia however didn't really want _things_ since they had limited space to keep them in and didn't like clutter. Florrie however had a lot more space and lived a much more sedentary lifestyle than the average assassin, so they were many more gift opportunities available.

"Voi, my turn," Squalo said once Florrie had carefully set the jewellery aside. "Here," he passed over a rather large neatly wrapped box.

It turned out to contain a trio of framed stained glass ovals, each about thirty centimetres across and depicting a range of different wildlife. There was a forest one, a marine one and a mountainside one; Xanxus suspected a Superbi in-joke he was currently missing.

Oh; the mountainside one had a cougar on it. Joke found. Now he knew what to look for he could see the tiny spotted cat perched in a tree in the jungle, above the tapir and below the butterflies, and the marine one had a shark lurking behind the gaudy reef fauna. Cute.

"Squalo where did you _get_ these?" Florrie demanded, finally looking up from the mountainside piece in her hands.

Shark smirked, clearly very pleased by how well his gift was going down. "Got a cousin who paints stained glass as a hobby," he said carelessly, "so made a commission. Like them?" Oh now shark was fishing.

"They're _amazing_ and I'm going to have to sort out some stands of some kind, so I can put them up against the windows!"

Shark hummed, visibly smug.

Xanxus let Florrie admire her latest gift a while more, then when she finally let Luss have a look at them he put his own main gift on the table.

His friend noticed immediately. "Xanxus, you've already given me an impossibly beautiful watch; I'm even wearing it."

He'd actually made the watch; regular watches –digital and analogue– were not Flameproof, so Flame users had to buy mechanical watches from Underworld craftsmen, with gears and other parts made from specific alloys so they resisted Flame damage. Watch-making had been part of how he'd worked his way up to Flame Tech and Ring-smithing and it had been nice to go back to it, as it was both simpler and more demanding in certain specific ways. Another valuable skill he'd never really done much with, but that he could easily make a living off if he wanted.

"Like giving you things," he replied easily.

Florrie sighed, but she was still smiling. "Well in that case."

Xanxus watched her tear off the sticky tape, slightly worried despite himself. This was a rather risky gift, but it was one he _wanted_ to give her. If he didn't she wouldn't be able to visit him where he would be living after Christmas, and with how things were likely to go down he might not be able to visit her here as often as he wanted to. Or at all.

His Cloud opened the box and paused, forehead crinkling and eyebrows lowering. Xanxus bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from commenting. His friend's emotions had gone all still at the top with confusion at the bottom, which implied she was deliberately trying to reserve judgement until she knew what was going on. He had to not interfere.

His other Guardians were evidently aware of the undercurrents; Bel was watching avidly and Luss had sat back so as to be out of the line of fire.

Florrie removed the stack of papers from the top of the box and leafed through them, then carefully set them aside to pick up the faux-passport. Mafia Land didn't accept the regular kind; well they _did_ , but most people didn't _want_ to use their civilian identity for this kind of thing, provided they even had one. It had been pretty easy getting the paperwork –her being his Guardian meant he could do this kind of thing on her behalf– but that didn't mean she'd use it.

"Patience, Xanxus?" His Cloud asked mildly.

He shuffled in his chair, watching her from under lowered lashes. She didn't seem _too_ annoyed with him… "Have another preference? Can change it," he offered.

Florrie rolled her eyes. "Not my point." She set the passport aside and removed the glasses case from the box, flicking it open. "I take it these are my cunning disguise?"

"They change your eye colour," Xanxus informed her, relieved she seemed to be going along with things for now. She might yet yell at him in private, but preliminary acceptance was promising. "And lighten your hair." Not by much, but dark brown to light brown with coppery highlights was a fairly significant change; as was changing her eyes from slate blue to hazel green.

"So slightly more sophisticated than just Clark Kenting it then," Florrie mused, unfolding the spectacles and sliding them on her nose. Xanxus blinked; the change was actually fairly startling. The colour changes in themselves weren't so off-putting, but combined with the thin brown ovals framing her eyes he could have walked past her in the street without recognising her.

"Voi, probably a good idea to do something different with your hair, too," shark commented.

"What, like not braiding it?" Florrie asked dryly. "My hair is _wavy_ , Squalo; not tying it back is asking to spend two hours before bedtime combing the knots out and persuading it not to eat my hairbrush again."

"Maybe just leave the bangs at the front loose honey, and put the rest up in a bun?" Luss suggested. "Or do a high ponytail; experiment a little."

"We'll see," Florrie conceded, taking off the glasses again so her actual appearance was restored and putting them away in their case. "So care to share why I've been given a new identity for my birthday, Xanxus?"

He shifted slightly in his seat. "Retiring to neutral territory," he explained, "but it's deep Underworld; no civvies at all. Might not be able to visit you for a while, but your being my Guardian means I can arrange for you to visit _me_ there. But want to keep your real identity away from all that, so." He waved at the passport, disguise and various paperwork which identified her as his Guardian and therefore permitted to visit the island whenever she liked, along with details of the relevant 'travel agents' to contact in order to get there, since he was now a registered resident and paying a hefty fee for the privilege.

"Hence sticking your surname on my new paperwork?"

"Guardians often use their Sky's family name, to protect their own family and to make clear who they're affiliated with." He'd wanted to use the Superbi name, but that would leave him open to Vongola machinations so 'Cavallone' it had to be. He'd settled for sticking his Superbi name as a middle name on his own paperwork; he was Xanxus Coguaro Cavallone to the Underworld now.

"And where do I keep this incredibly incriminating paperwork so nobody else accidentally finds it, Xanxus?"

Oh yes, that was point. A good point. "I'll sort you out a lock box that nobody else will notice." Like people didn't notice her ring or that she always had her phone in her pocket. Exceptions like pickpocketing little sisters borrowing said phone notwithstanding.

"Thank you," Florrie said firmly, putting everything back in the cardboard box he'd given it to her in. "I do want to be able to visit you, don't get me wrong, but the cloak and dagger bullshit is just ridiculous and nerve-racking."

Bel snickered and Squalo grinned; Xanxus couldn't help smiling either. His Cloud wasn't exactly wrong there, but unfortunately the Vindice were not completely clear on what counted as 'revealing the Underworld,' which lead to everybody being a bit paranoid about it. After all, the Vindice had in the past disappeared people for 'endangering Omertà' so it paid to be cautious.

"Got other presents," Xanxus offered, producing another two wrapped gifts from his pockets. "Not incriminating at all, promise."

His Cloud gave him a Look but accepted them. "Just so you know, my parents have decided –on their own, I might add– that you are in 'import-export,'" she told him, her voice carrying an amused yet pointed undertone.

That… "Bond joke?" James Bond had supposedly worked for 'Universal Exports.'

"Slightly," Florrie agreed, eyes on the thin package she was peeling back tape from, "but also a reference to a neighbour we had when we lived abroad, who sold helicopters out of his garage and worked in 'import-export.' It's kind of a pun, a catch-all for dubiously legal market practices and recognition that it's safer not to ask or pry too deeply."

Bel fell off the coffee table he was sniggering so hard; Xanxus did his best to ignore the amusement in the peanut gallery.

"Problem?" He asked.

"Not as such," his friend said slowly, "but they are rather relieved that we're not dating. They both think you're lovely, let's be clear, but they recognise that these things are not always as clear-cut as we'd like them to be." She unfolded the paper. "Oh these are _adorable_ Xanxus!" Luss leaned in to see and cooed as Florrie picked up her gift.

He'd had photographs of the greyhound Box Weapons in their various knitted jumpers turned into a set of notecards; he'd thought she'd like them and he'd clearly been spot on, judging by how she was smiling.

"Voi, let's see those."

Florrie finished shuffling through them and handed them to Xanxus, who passed them back to the shark. Bel managed to crawl off the floor to peek at them over Squalo's shoulder; the Sky ignored the low-voiced murmurs in favour of watching his Cloud, who was opening the last of her presents from him.

"It's a… bowl?" She looked a bit puzzled. "A very pretty bowl though." She picked it out of the bubble wrap it was nested in and turned it over in her hands, admiring the colours blending and swirling in the glaze.

"Ice cream bowl," he told her cheerfully; he'd bought it from a Superbi cousin who threw pots as a hobby.

Florrie looked up instantly. "Is that a promise?"

"Yep; I brought lots of chocolate." He'd do it this afternoon, while Florrie was opening the presents the rest of the Varia had sent for her.

"Fantastic." She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I love all my presents, thank you for them."

"But especially for promising ice cream?" He deduced easily, amused by the implication.

"Your chocolate ice cream is almost a religious experience, Xanxus!"

"My turn now," Mammon said firmly, placing a rather solid package wrapped in cheap brown postage paper in front of Florrie. Xanxus abruptly remembered his Cloud's threat last Christmas, to demand embarrassing photographs of him, and was suddenly slightly worried. What had Mammon managed to dig up?

Florrie unfolded the paper –the miserly Mist hadn't even bothered with tape– picked up one of the suspiciously thick Kodak envelopes within and folded the top flap back, tipping the prints into her hand.

"Awww," she cooed, "Look Xanxus, you're adorable!"

There was a sudden rush for the table, Bel and Squalo darting around behind Luss as the Sun shifted his chair closer and Xanxus leaned over to see for himself what had prompted that reaction.

It was him aged maybe six or seven, fast asleep on the couch in Ottava's rooms with somebody's suit jacket tossed over him as a blanket. Nebbia's suit jacket; it was indigo wool. The Florrie shuffled that photo to the back to reveal another one of him, this time of an even younger him –the way his cheekbones were sticking out made it clear he'd not been with the old fart long– looking stiff and awkward in a white shirt and black slacks, glaring thunderously at the camera.

"There's a familiar expression," Luss murmured wickedly.

"Where'd you get these?" Xanxus demanded, turning to Mammon as Florrie shuffled her winnings again to reveal a photo of him aged maybe eight, laughing and being pursued across the garden by a scorched, amused-furious Massimo.

"Nebbia," the Mist said smugly. A snicker from the shark had Xanxus quickly looking back at the pictures, which now showed a very put-upon pre-teen him wearing horrendously old-fashioned clothes; hey, he actually _remembered_ that. Ottava had been chucking stuff out –well sending it to auction for charity or museums and stuff– and found some shit from when her older brothers had been his age, then demanded he wear it.

"Looking very dapper," shark drawled. Xanxus did his best to murder his _intensely annoying_ Rain with his eyes.

The next picture was clearly a candid shot taken when he'd not known about it; it was from a party, with blurred figures in the background as his scrawny half-grown teenage self danced with Grandma, looking a bit comical because he was already half a head taller than her despite still being baby-faced. Which party that was he had no idea; he'd danced with her at all the parties until her legs had stopped cooperating and she'd had to spend the entire evening sitting down because she could only walk so far in a day.

The next picture was of teenage him again, aged maybe fourteen, crouched down wearing raggedy jeans and a tattered band shirt, liberally smeared in black grease and surrounded by motorbike innards, utterly engrossed in reassembling the engine he was nose to nose with. "This one I really, really like," Florrie said softly, "and I'm definitely putting it on the wall."

Xanxus felt his face heat, which was almost _more_ embarrassing than having his Guardians all see these pictures. He was desperately trying to remember when he'd seen Grandma or Nebbia wielding a camera around him, but honestly the dressing-up occasion had been one of maybe three times that had happened. So how often had Nebbia had a camera on him and made sure nobody noticed he was taking pictures?

The next photo made it clear the answer to that question was 'far _too_ often;' it was a photo of the time Federico and Massimo had tossed him in Lake Garcia; he was airborne and flailing. Bel snickered, then started giggling helplessly into his sleeve when the next photo revealed a plume of water and two grinning Vongola men turning towards the camera. The third picture showed him walking out of the lake, looking like a drowned rat with water weed draped over his sodden shirt and steaming ever so slightly as Federico folded over laughing and Massimo wisely ran for it. Next came a photo of him kicking Federico into the lake, the exact moment of the idiot's impact with the water captured forever.

Xanxus tried to ignore the cooing and amused sniggering coming from his Guardians; how many more picture _were_ there?

The next picture… it hurt. He hadn't expected it. It was of him sitting on Grandma's sofa with a book, Grandma leaning into him fast asleep. Nebbia had captured a moment Xanxus was fondly side-eyeing Grandma, who had her mouth open and her head resting against his shoulder. The image brought the memory back, painfully clear: she'd been snoring gently in between mumbling about goats. It had been after he'd found out the old fart wasn't really his father, but in that specific instant all he'd been able to feel was how much he loved the irritating, wickedly teasing, briskly caring old lady who'd claimed him as her grandson.

These were Florrie's pictures, but Xanxus _desperately_ wanted a copy of that one.

The next picture was of a toddler Bel wearing a bowl of soup –including all the soup– on his head, knocking his tiny toddler coronet cockeyed, which was a welcome reprieve. Bel promptly squawked in outrage.

"Why is there a picture of the Prince?!"

"Mu, it seemed wise to keep the playing field level in terms of blackmail photographs," Mammon said equably. Squalo instantly caught the subtext.

"Voi, you mean there're photos of _all_ of us in there?!"

Mammon nodded, retrieving a mandarin from the fruit bowl and peeling it. Xanxus was swamped by a profound sense of gratitude mingled with delighted glee.

"Let's see the rest of them then," he demanded cheerfully.

"Well, that certainly explains why there're two packets," Florrie mused, grinning massively. "I'm going to have to buy _lots_ more frames."

Squalo groaned loudly, head flopping forward so his forehead was resting on Florrie's shoulder. "You went and asked Grandpa, didn't you," he grumbled.

"Among others," Mammon agreed serenely. "Your life is far more extensively documented than the rest of ours; it was a challenge picking out the best pictures."

Xanxus perked up further at the prospect of being able to ask Delfino about pictures of the shark being tiny, shouty and incautious.

"Fucking doomed," the Rain grumbled behind his hair. Florrie meanwhile had switched pictures; this one had pre-schooler Bel covered in mud with a triumphant and faintly vicious grin on his face, tiara splattered but still firmly in place.

"The Prince remembers that," Bel said abruptly. "The Prince won the mud fight." Against his twin, who reading between the lines had been even more of a psychotic little monster than Bel and was probably half of _why_ Bel was how he was. Shitty neglectful parents had a lot to answer for there.

"Well victories should definitely be documented," Florrie said pleasantly, shuffling that picture to the back.

The next photo was of eight-year-old Bel curled up on a Varia couch, sucking his thumb in his sleep and swaddled in a large jacket bearing the Storm Officer's insignia. If you looked closely it was possible to see a hint of spatter on the side of Bel's face; drying blood from his late and relatively unlamented predecessor, Triton, whose jacket that had been.

Bel hummed contentedly, clearly remembering that victory and sufficiently pleased that it was documented to overlook how adorably tiny he looked in the picture.

The next picture was _far_ less dignified; it had Xanxus holding Bel up by the ankle at arm's length, the blonde mid-scream and twisting like a cat.

"Oh, I _remember_ that," Lussuria said, tone redolent with vindictive amusement. " _Somebody_ didn't want to eat their vegetables."

Xanxus remembered that too, although the specific instance blurred in with the rest of the clashes he'd won against Bel over the first few weeks of the prince's time at the Varia. The tiny royal had arrived with no concept of discipline and Xanxus had needed to be the person to instil it. He'd succeeded, but it hadn't been a smooth process.

The next photo was of a sulking Bel, wearing purple pyjamas and sat cross-legged in the middle of a stone room, the space completely bare except for ash and scorch-marks.

" _I_ remember this one," Squalo chimed in, tone gleeful. "You refused to clean up your shit and you got some kind of insect infestation in your rooms from all those dirty plates, so Boss burned everything down to the stone; clothes, furniture, carpet and all."

Xanxus had also informed the pouty eight-year-old that he _would_ do it again if he had to; Bel had thereafter made sure to leave food waste and blood-stained items _outside_ his rooms, so Housekeeping could collect them. They refused to enter the Storm Officer's rooms on principle because he left poisons, knives and wires everywhere, tangled up with dirty clothing and books and sweet wrappers and all his other possessions.

"I could sit here all day looking through these and hearing the stories attached," Florrie said abruptly, "but I do want to get to church and it's already ten o'clock. We can look at the rest of them after lunch." With that she tucked the pictures back in the envelope. "I'll put these away and head out; I don't mind you staying here without me but stay _out_ of my bedroom, please."

"Of course, honey," Luss agreed firmly. "You go have fun; don't worry, I'll keep everybody in line."

The Cloud smiled, looking slightly confused by that assertion but rolling with it. "Xanxus, there's a post-it with cooking times and instructions on the stew pot in the fridge; I'm sure you'll manage."

Yes, he'd noticed that while getting crepe ingredients out; the oven should be up to temperature by now.

"I'll just put all these things somewhere safely out of the way then head out," Florrie continued, voice dropping to a mumble as she scooped up her gifts into a careful pile and walked out of the kitchen.

"Voi, when you said pictures of _everyone_ did you include yourself?" Squalo abruptly asked Mammon.

"Naturally."

"Okay," shark responded, clearly not expecting that answer. Xanxus knew better; Mammon _liked_ that there were photos of them on Florrie's wall and in her albums. The Mist liked that there were photos of _all_ of them here, in somebody's home, making them a part of the family. Why would they leave themselves out?

* * *

Florrie got back well before the stew was cooked, arriving at a moment when Bel was sassing Xanxus over his culinary competence. Squalo felt the Storm was being wilfully Dumb about the specifics there, but it wasn't his problem.

"Kitchens are for peasants."

Xanxus snorted. "I've seen you cook, trash."

Bel sniffed. "The Prince has many hobbies he indulges in; royalty may do as they please, when they please. The Prince however does not believe that Boss cooks merely when it amuses him to do so."

Okay, this was drifting into perilous territory.

"I always felt Xanxus was more of a warlord than a born royal," Florrie mused, pushing the door closed and hanging up her coat. "Reached his position through relentless competence, his followers all-but-worship him, and would take over half the known world if it caught his fancy."

Bel paused, then grinned. "The advisor has a point."

Squalo felt the tension seep out of his shoulders as the room's atmosphere lightened.

"Can we look at some more of those photos before lunch, honey?" Luss asked from the sofa, where he was leafing through a massive book of photographs of traditional body art from around the world.

"I don't see why not," the Cloud conceded. "The stew should take about another hour, I think, so there's time."

"Or could open some of your other presents," Squalo suggested, wanting to put off his own embarrassment for as long as possible.

Florrie blinked at him. "Other presents?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said dryly, waving at the cardboard box sat by the fireplace behind him. "You really shouldn't have sent out those thank you cards last Christmas; now everybody wants one." Well that probably wasn't _everybody's_ reasoning, but those cards had been much admired and kept and with all the other shit going down at the Varia right now due to Nono's machinations, a lot more people than usual were making a big deal of birthdays. Because there were fewer missions, people were getting bored and any distraction was welcome.

Florrie stared levelly at the box. "I'm guessing that once again external dimensions do not offer a meaningful reference as to internal volume?" She commented lightly.

"Voi, could say that." He knew it was at _least_ four times larger on the inside than it should be.

"Well, let's start with those then; I'll go get my book so I can make a note of everybody's names."

* * *

Lunch ended up not happening until nearly two, there were that many presents. Thankfully most of them were edible or otherwise intended for usage that would mean they ceased to exist –there were a number of candles, puzzle books in the various languages the Cloud was familiar with and packets of seeds for her garden– or else Florrie would have been pushed out of her home by the sheer volume of gifts. It looked like _everybody_ had at least signed their name on a collective gift, so that was going to be a _lot_ of thank you cards. One smartass had actually _given_ her a box of notecards; Squalo had a feeling that gift was from somebody in Information, because he couldn't remember their Name off the top of his head and only Information were that aggressively forgettable.

"Please remind your people I live in a flat with limited space," the Cloud requested later over the meal, "and that I live alone, so don't exactly have people I can con into helping me eat things. I'm probably going to have to take some of this to classes so it doesn't go to waste."

Well she _could_ invite friends over, but Florrie was a Cloud and didn't like people in her private space. Every now and then was fine, but most days? Not a chance.

"Will pass it on," Squalo agreed easily; the novelty was likely to wear off soon, especially with the mass retirement coming up, but getting that reminder in before everybody had bought their Christmas presents was probably a good idea.

"Of course, honey," Luss added comfortably.

"Is there a dessert planned?" Mammon asked after clearing their plate for the second time; their aging seemed to have sped up slightly recently, so rather than looking like a short six and a half they were halfway through a growth spurt and had the appearance of an average seven year old. Although the hood did make it trickier to accurately assess growth and guessing kids' ages was hard enough as it was.

"Well _I_ was promised ice cream," Florrie said mischievously, "but I don't know what the rest of you are having."

The Mist instantly turned to pout at Xanxus, quickly joined by Bel and Luss. Their Sky ignored them completely, his attention on finishing his own meal. Squalo then realised that he was the only person who got to eat the fruits of Boss's ice cream experiments on the regular, other than Florrie and Xanxus himself; the Sky had apparently done a range of flavours for Mammon on their birthday, but so far Bel and Luss had only heard about it.

"Don't think Florrie's got enough ingredients," Xanxus said eventually.

"The shops won't shut until five," Florrie countered calmly. "I'm sure if you provided a list, someone would be happy to go to a supermarket."

"I'd be delighted to, Boss-honey," Luss wheedled, leaning forwards and fluttering his eyelashes.

The Sky hummed, then took another mouthful of stew. The anticipatory silence dragged on as he chewed.

"Notepad?" he asked after swallowing, glancing at Florrie. She beamed at him, hopped up from her chair and grabbed a reporter's notebook from the bookshelf beside the coat hooks, turning over the top page and handing it to him along with a pen.

"So what flavours are you doing?" she asked. "Other than chocolate, of course; I actually have a real vanilla pod you could deseed if you wanted, as well as vanilla extract."

"Strawberry?" Mammon asked.

"Not strawberry season," Xanxus countered absently; "not as nice when they're not fresh. Patisserie cream maybe, or ginger; get good ginger in syrup here, as well as fresh."

"Ginger sounds good," Squalo commented; he wasn't a big fan of sweets or dark chocolate, but ginger ice cream would be spicy as well as sweet.

"The prince likes plain ice cream, but vanilla is also pleasant," Bel said, "so long as it isn't too sweet. That ruins it."

"I've got some blackberries in the freezer," Florrie offered. "Quite a lot actually; I picked them myself."

"Chocolate, vanilla, ginger and blackberry then," the Sky decided, jotting down a list of ingredients and ripping the list off the pad, then shoving it at Squalo. "You go shark; won't crash."

Squalo rolled his eyes but accepted the paper; Xanxus was right, letting Luss drive the hire car was asking for trouble. "Come on Luss; got to find a fancy enough shop to buy quality ingredients."

It would probably take a little while to get everything on the list, but that wasn't really an issue. Boss would definitely start without them, but he'd promised Florrie large quantities of birthday chocolate ice cream _anyway_ so if the Sky did that first, he could then get on with the stuff for sharing as soon as they got back with the supplies.

* * *

As promised, Xanxus took his Cloud's boots back to Sicily with him when they left. He'd already talked to the cobbler, so the man was expecting them and would have them resoled, checked over and thoroughly serviced by the time he went to see her again next weekend. He also had plans to adjust the building's Wards, something he could do because he owned it and was currently Varia Boss. However he wasn't going to be Varia Boss for much longer, so that safe house –along with all the others– would need the security modifying so it stopped referring to the Varia roster. Instead the new security would be tied directly to Florrie and himself, only allowing others into the building when invited and not permitting them to return after the invitation period was over. Various other safehouses would need their security tailoring to the desires of the primary residents or owners, but that was Housekeeping's responsibility if said residents or owners lacked the skill, ability or time to do it for themselves.

People who meant his Cloud no harm would still be able to walk up her front drive and knock at the door, but they wouldn't be able to put so much as a finger across the threshold without her permission, verbal or otherwise. Xanxus had a feeling the old fart would make an effort to hunt down _all_ his contacts after his retirement, no matter how tenuous the leads, so there was a good chance of somebody finding the flight data and trying to determine what it was about Florrie's home city that caught his attention. He'd not exactly been discreet about marking his presence in and around her home, so Vongola agents might well actually find her. He was known to her social circle and now slightly regretting having so thoroughly intimidated all the potential food-thieves in her former halls of residence; that had made the both of them sufficiently memorable that somebody putting in enough time and effort could determine who and where she was.

She was blatantly civilian and there was no proof to the contrary, so they were unlikely to act overtly against her, but it was nonetheless a possibility. Ensuring her home was secure was all he could do at this point –and not something they could cite as proof of her awareness of the Underworld– and she had Gwyn, which meant she would be protected in emergencies; if it came to a confrontation she had a phone to reach him on –he'd recently bought the entire Varia mobile phone database and all the handsets from Mammon at fire-sale prices– and she was vanishingly unlikely to get physically roughed-up even if she _was_ found. People were not going to think she was anything more than his mistress –at most– unless they had unusually keen Flame-senses, which most people outside the Varia didn't.

He _still_ didn't like the possibility, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Florrie wasn't going to move –she was enjoying her second year at university– so he had to live with her choices.

At least she could visit him soon. He'd made sure her Mafia paperwork was secure in a safe in a Mist-expanded space under the bottom drawer of her bedside table, then also Bound it to her Box Weapon so that if she desperately _needed_ the paperwork and disguise to be in her pocket it would be. He'd told her of course; she'd rolled her eyes at him but accepted the precaution.

Should everything go to hell she'd be able to escape and make her way to him. That would have to be enough.

* * *

The situation with the boot-maker –and the ceramics engineer who supplied the Varia with trauma plates, knives, replacement teeth and a range other minor but necessary supplies– was a sensitive one, because unlike the various farmers, tanners, carpenters, paper mills and foundries that picked up Varia supply contracts, they did not have enough non-Varia customers to remain comfortably in business without the patronage of the assassination division. Hell, the ceramics engineer had only gone into business in the first place with a Varia grant, as their experiments in pottery had caught Housekeeping's attention and they'd done several collaborative projects with Equipment and Medical before going into business full-time. They were technically civilian, but the Varia Boss had a feeling the background check had included some vaguely mafia relatives. Nothing Vongola though; minor Palermo stuff.

The ceramics engineer was coming with them to Mafia Land –he was youngish and loved his craft enough to sign on with the Cavallone in order to continue pursuing the limits of what could be done– but the boot-maker was the latest of a long line of boot-makers dating back to the seventeenth century, who had managed to keep his business going in the face of modern mass-production due to exclusive Varia patronage. Without three-hundred-and-change guaranteed customers a year keeping him comfortably off he would probably have to downsize, which would be bad news for his sons, nephew and grandson all employed in his workshop, hoping to continue making boots for the rest of their lives.

There would still be about seventy or so guaranteed customers per year –the local Varia retirees were not about to stop wanting high-end boots and horse had been very interested in where Xanxus's extremely resilient footwear came from– but that was still a dramatic reduction in clientele and after Christmas the former Varia would not be able to wander through Vongola territory en masse to buy new shoes. It just wouldn't work.

Cheshire was actually another of the boot-maker's grandsons and had got saddled with the task of breaking the news as a result; the decision-making process there was ongoing, but so far it looked like the old boot-maker was going to 'retire' early and leave the current workshop to his sons, who were by this point perfectly capable of working unsupervised and running the business without their father. The old man would continue to tutor his nephew and grandson –the expensive and challenging part, when the boots had to be made Flameproof and there were proprietary and personalised family secrets to be instilled in the apprentices– and it was starting to look like he was willing to follow his customer base's exodus in the interests of providing his students with sufficient experience.

Xanxus had already made it clear to Mammon that he was willing to offer a low-interest loan to the man so he could set up on Mafia Land –under Cavallone protection of course, to keep the scavengers at bay– and allow him to market his Flameproof footwear to all discerning Underworld individuals who could afford them, rather than just Vongola customers and the occasional rich civilian. He'd probably be filthy rich within five years; the only reason it would take that long was that without his sons he'd be the only person capable of creating the full product for the year or two it would take for his nephew's work to reach the desired standard.

The grandson was only in the beginning stages of his apprenticeship, so he'd need five or six years to reach a level of competence the old man was satisfied with.

Flameproof boots were a niche product, but Xanxus had not come across anybody in the Underworld who provided work of equal quality. The Vongola shoemakers were technically an offshoot of old man Zavatteri's family –shoes were apparently 'for apprentices'; Xanxus sensed an old feud there– who had risen in importance since cars had overtaken horses as the favoured transport method, but those shoes couldn't hold a candle to the Varia's boots. Yes, Xanxus _did_ own a pair of fancy dress shoes for parties and disguises, but only because the canny old boot-maker had provided them of his own initiative on the basis that the Varia Boss needed 'properly made shoes' as well as boots.

Oh yes, very _definitely_ a low-lying family feud with the Vongola's shoemakers.

* * *

The first time Xanxus had met his Superbi grandma and aunt had been in late July, and there'd been almost no actual conversation because Sara Mancuso had been too overwhelmed and tearful to do more than hug him, wipe her eyes, and choke out in between sobs her thanks for passing on the information of where her daughter was buried. It had been horrendously awkward and he hadn't had the faintest idea what to do, so had sat tight and done his best to listen to his aunt Ornata talk about what she remembered of his mother and field questions about himself as best he could.

The second meeting had been in late August, by which point Grandma was somewhat more composed and had asked questions herself, mostly about him, while his aunt only spoke up occasionally to keep the conversation moving. Grandma had also talked a bit about his mother, mostly anecdotes Ornata had been too young to remember or teenage things the younger woman had been oblivious to at the time. Xanxus had made an effort to be honest about the things he enjoyed and did, but it had still been awkward. Less awkward than the first meeting, but still unsettled; the subject of his mother's later life lay between them like a chasm, deep and dark and fraught. There were going to be questions about that later; Xanxus was not looking forward to them.

He'd learned more about his mother though, including things he'd never even thought about or noticed. Like the fact she'd been tall; actually taller than the old fart, as it happened. To him she'd just been his mother, and he'd not seen her after the age of six so he'd just assumed that his memories of her being so much bigger than him were due to a child's perspective; it turned out that no, she'd been a hundred and seventy-six centimetres tall. Which yes, was twenty centimetres shorter than he now was, but it was also almost ten centimetres taller than the old fart; she'd been very tall indeed for a woman, especially a Sicilian woman. Superbi blood accounted for some of that, but didn't change the fact that the average women's' height in Italy was one hundred and sixty-two centimetres –and Sicilians tended to be a bit shorter than that– which was fourteen centimetres less than Ma had.

It made Xanxus want to snigger hysterically really; his mother had been taller than Enrico and the same height as Federico. He had no idea how tall his father had been –he should ask Dario– but clearly he got his height from both sides of the family, seeing as Dino was one hundred and eighty-three centimetres despite apparently taking more after his own mother than Andrea Cavallone.

Xanxus was now one hundred and ninety-six centimetres tall; he was starting to hope he'd finally stopped getting taller, because soon he really _would_ be at risk of cracking his head on every single door lintel like shark's apprentice-cousin did. Mahi was slightly over two metres tall now and he was only seventeen; he could easily continue getting taller for a while yet. He was also going to fill out a lot, guaranteed; his father Uro was built like a bull and Mahi was looking likely to follow suit. For now though he was all stretched and awkward and scarecrow-looking, which was very amusing indeed; he towered over the rest of his Squad by over thirty centimetres and was very obviously uncomfortable doing so.

He'd get over himself in a few years and settle better in his own skin, but for now he was all elbows and knees and crippling embarrassment every time he stumbled into something –or someone– well below his eye level. He was admittedly a damn fine Squad Leader despite that, but there was plenty of room for improvement there.

Xanxus's third sit-down with his aunt –just his aunt this time– was in November, and didn't go at all like he'd been expecting it to.

* * *

"How was your week?"

"Good," Xanxus said, groping blindly for anything he could say to keep the conversation limping along without violating his own secrecy protocols. "Productive." He'd arranged for his workshop equipment to be shipped to Mafia Land this week, so it would hopefully arrive before mid-December. The interim period was going to be irritating, but needs must. "Bequests from Nono's sons and Donna Ottava finally came though, so been looking through those and reminiscing." That was a much safer subject, but it was also much more painful and he hadn't quite decided how he felt about things yet there, so didn't really want to talk about them. Especially not Grandma's photo albums. "You?"

"Ah well," Ornata said, sitting forwards and cradling her glass of sparkling water, "it's been a challenging few days."

Xanxus raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to go into more detail.

She did so. "I don't know if I told you, but I work for an artisan pottery business specialising in replicas made with authentic materials."

Xanxus hummed interestedly; she hadn't told him, but that sounded fascinating. There'd be a lot of artistic craftsmanship required in such a business, as well as a great deal of scientific and historical expertise.

"As you can imagine, we get all _kinds_ of customers," his aunt went on, "some of whom just want plates or bowls to match grandma's set they just inherited because there're only three left after a lifetime of breakages but it's still finer quality than anything they could buy new these days. Then there are museum orders to promote exhibitions and set dressing for period dramas and the like, all kinds, but _this_ week we had a lady bringing in a completely _stunning_ Jun ware tea bowl –genuine twelfth century with a slightly marbled red-purple glaze, probably cost about fifty thousand American dollars at auction– wanting us to make her a full set of bowls and dishes to match, along with a teapot."

"Isn't Jun ware one of the hardest glazes to replicate successfully?" Xanxus asked, because antique ceramics were something that consistently sold well, so Mammon had a week-long course they ran annually for new Varia, to ensure everybody knew how to identify various types for productive and efficient looting.

"Yes, it is," his aunt agreed animatedly, "and there aren't _any_ Jun teapots because teapots weren't even _invented_ until the thirteenth century and there are no surviving pieces dating before the sixteenth century, which any _real_ collector would know. Our potters were actually delighted to have a crack at replicating Jun glazes –even if most of them didn't turn out perfect they'd still look good enough for general sale– but the teapot argument lasted for _hours_ and in the end we agreed to make some anyway, no matter that they'll make it instantly obvious to any discerning guest that the entire set _is_ a recent replica. Or seventeenth century Shiwan ware at _best_."

Xanxus chuckled. "Defeating the entire point of having a full set made." The only reason a person would want a _full set_ of what looked like incredibly rare stoneware rather than show off the original item as an exhibition piece would be to present themselves as being even more outrageously wealthy than they were already.

"Exactly," Ornata agreed, shaking her head. "I mean, like I said we get _all_ kinds of people in, but the filthy rich are by far the most ridiculously unreasonable." She sighed. "Well, at least the artisans will get scans and spectroscopy data of authentic Jun ware for their records; they do enjoy that kind of thing and it may even open up other opportunities if the supplementary pieces sell well."

"Like a small set of those tea bowls," Xanxus admitted; shark was very hard to buy for, but he liked tea and some classy tea bowls would be well-received. "Would they be ready in early March? A Guardian has a birthday."

"I'm sure it would be no trouble at all to put together a set of the higher-quality pieces that don't quite meet that client's standards for you," his aunt said amiably, producing a notebook and making a note, "and yes, they should be ready by then. Four bowls?"

"Yes, thank you."

She eyed him mischievously. "For Squalo, I take it? Don't worry, I won't tell; I'll even make sure our various relatives working on the glazes know to keep their mouths shut. It's not a Superbi business per se, but we've a few distant cousins involved on both the pottery and the chemistry side. We do all like a challenge." Her lips twitched. "I may even see if we can throw in a teapot; I'm sure he's informed enough to spot the anachronism."

Xanxus chuckled again; yes, shark probably _was_ and it would give him the opportunity to share the associated story. "Any other amusing customer stories?" He asked, aware that the awkwardness had decreased over the previous few minutes of unexpected common ground and wanting to keep things moving. "I've got a couple but," he shrugged, "got to censor them." For obvious reasons.

"So many, you have no idea," Ornata said with feeling. "Tell you what; you tell one while I pick out a few good ones, then I'll share mine. Several are fairly hilarious in retrospect."

"Sounds good." He could tell _one_ funny story; the Varia had very few entertaining customer anecdotes and this one was one of just three that was consistently amusing even for civilians. After that he could switch to listening, which promised to be much easier now they'd stumbled on some common ground in a subject his aunt was genuinely passionate about.

"So tell me this story then!"

"So we got a client," Xanxus began, "and in addition to the usual, they describe in considerable detail this silver teapot that _has_ to be removed from the scene. They don't care what happens to the rest of what's in the building, but the teapot _must_ go." This had happened just before he was put on ice and it had been the highlight of the week at the time.

His aunt made an interested sound in her throat.

"We were all very curious, of course," Xanxus continued, "more so when it turned out there was no shortage of other valuables and the teapot was a very fine mid-nineteenth century piece in sterling silver, with hand-chased florals and scrolling, monogrammed. Worth about two thousand euros to a collector, but not the most valuable piece in the building by a long shot." He paused for effect. "Two weeks after the fact the customer pronounces themselves highly satisfied and sends a bonus, so we take the opportunity to ask what the big deal with the teapot is."

"And?" Ornata demanded, sitting forwards in her chair.

"Turns out the teapot was the focus of a whole lot of family infighting," Xanxus shared lightly. "People in favour being told they'd be left it in the will –it was a family heirloom, personally commissioned for an ancestor as a wedding gift– then when they did something the owner objected to, they'd turn around and say it would be left to somebody else." He shook his head. "So much anger and recrimination and vitriol and tears, all over a teapot, to the point that the client decided they wanted to remove it from the equation entirely." The victim had been the client's grandmother-in-law and he'd been sick and tired of seeing his wife in tears over the latest twist in her ongoing family spat. The victim had also been suffering some kind of mental deterioration, which really hadn't helped, and the whole drama had a distinctly toxic flavour that had been palpable even second-hand. The family matriarch's 'heart-attack' in response to discovering a 'home invasion' had curtailed the conflict entirely, bringing everybody together to mourn and set their differences aside.

"They insisted we either keep hold of it or destroy it entirely," Xanxus added, "but it's worth too much for our treasurer to let us turn it into scrap, so we _still_ have it. Gets used every day at breakfast time, even." It was a perfectly good teapot after all and such things were made to be used.

His aunt broke out in snickering. "Oh my," she managed eventually, "I can see it! Your good deed of the year, no doubt; bringing a family together!"

Xanxus nodded, humming smugly. It was not at all the usual kind of mission story and all the more entertaining for it.

"Well, I'm not sure I can match _that_ ," his aunt admitted, "but I've got a few interesting stories you might like." She smiled, the playful expression abruptly reminding him of his mother on her rare good days. "I think the story of the desk lamp is a good place to start."

"Desk lamp?" Xanxus repeated, curious. That was hardly an object that included rare ceramics. Well, not usually at least.

"This was a good few years back," Ornata continued, ignoring his question, "before I married or even met my husband. A middle-aged gentleman arrived in our front office with a cardboard box and worriedly confided in me that he'd knocked over his wife's favourite table lamp. An early Tiffany lamp, or so he claimed; he was quick to say that the glass shade was entirely undamaged, but the ceramic foot had broken over a letter rack and he would like us to make an identical replica for her."

"Tiffany did ceramics?" Xanxus hadn't known that.

"They did _not,"_ Ornata said firmly, "and I knew that, so I assumed the lamp was a cheap replica. However it wasn't a particularly challenging-sounding job so I agreed and put it in the books, passing on the box of shards to the potters so they could determine glaze composition from one of the fragments and whip up a copy." She paused for effect. "Except that two days later I have the spectroscopy team in the front office, wanting to know where the criminally abused early thirteenth century celandon Song _meiping_ had come from and why we'd quoted such a low price to replace it."

Xanxus couldn't help his bemused grin. "A celandon vase?"

His aunt hummed. "It so happened," she said dryly, "that the lamp –which was indeed a Tiffany– had originally belonged to the customer's wife's aunt, who had decided at some point that the original lamp stand was 'ugly' and had her husband take it apart and set the light and shade in an old vase of a complimentary colour instead. An 'old vase' that happened to be a completely gorgeous piece of Longquan ware, probably worth as much as the customer's _house_ before it was turned into a lamp stand and had a hole drilled in the bottom." She sighed. "We did replace it with an identical copy –with a modern maker's mark on the bottom, of course– and then since the customer let us buy the broken pieces off him at a ridiculously low price, another Superbi was called in to repair the vase with _kintsugi_. The repaired piece sits in pride of place in our display case to this day, alongside another replica for comparison."

Xanxus chuckled. "Funny," he agreed. If Mammon had been there to see that they'd probably have strangled the customer in question with their own two hands, for his carelessness and utter failure to appreciate the vase's monetary value.

"I have plenty more stories," his aunt informed him lightly, taking a sip of her drink.

"Please?" Xanxus asked hopefully. He really was interested in the subject matter, but more to the point conversation was finally flowing smoothly and he was enjoying that just as much. Ornata was opening up and he was getting a feel for her personally, which was what this was really about. They were trying to get to know each-other and it felt like they were finally hitting their stride.

"Of course; the story of the risqué Meissen porcelain figurines, I think. This will make you laugh; it was some filthy rich asshole's idea of a practical joke at the expense of his collector friends."

Xanxus smirked; he could already sense where this might be going. "Do tell."

* * *

The Varia's wholesale move to Mafia Land started in early December with Tyrant decamping to Xanxus's official new residence and taking all the Apprentices with him, along with half the Mists in Security, most of the repairs team and a few of the kitchen and laundry staff. The Housekeeping advance guard was then followed by the Immortal Squads, who being mature and responsible –supposedly– and having specific additional responsibilities were considered the best people to settle in first. Who would be living where was already decided –there'd been some loud arguments over the copy of the blueprints Boss had provided but everything had been firmly settled by mid-November– so it was just a matter of leaving the personal boxes in the right places and getting stuck into the infrastructure improvements.

Missions were carefully tailored so that every Squad in the field could end their assignment as near to the floating island as possible then make their own way to it, with those Varia not taking missions in the run-up to Christmas helping Housekeeping to pack up everything else, either for transport or sale. The horses in the stable were all going back to the Cavallone –who were where most of them had come from in the first place– half the trees and most of the more exotic plants were being sold to collectors and nearby botanical gardens, several of the cats were being re-homed, retirement paperwork had all been meticulously checked and double-checked to ensure all loopholes were closed and Mammon had dug up official severance and closure paperwork from somewhere, which was now almost completely filled in and only needed a few final additions before Boss could sign it, thereby declaring the Assassination Division officially defunct.

So far it was looking like the critical moment was going to be the Solstice Ball; close enough to Christmas that very little retaliation could be effectively commissioned and ruthlessly public. Boss would have the space and audience to say his piece, as well as the opportunity to take advantage of the subsequent upheaval get out of both the Iron Fort and the country in short order.

Squalo would be at the ball too; he wasn't letting his Sky do this alone. His fellow Officers and Mammon were all going to be there as well, to provide moral support and assert that they were tendering their resignations in protest of Boss's treatment by Don Vongola. The detail that there was no longer a Varia to _be_ led would hit later; Mammon would be delivering the severance and closure paperwork along with the official books shortly after Christmas, or at least ensuring that the relevant paperwork would not be found until then. The five-day panic attack that Nono would doubtless experience over the festive season at the prospect of the entire Assassination Division being without clearly designated leadership was entirely deserved, and if they were lucky might even result in a stroke.

The Rain Officer recognised he was being terribly uncharitable and didn't particularly care. That Chew Toy was likely to be in attendance didn't move him either; trash had gone back to Japan with his Guardians at the end of October, but Nono would now be inducting his Heir in earnest and would want him –and his entourage– present at all significant Vongola events from now onwards. Because Nono oh so _clearly_ valued Chew Toy's education; that was how much school missed in this year alone? Well, that –and Chew Toy– didn't matter anymore.

The twenty-first of December was going to be a truly magnificent disaster; Squalo could hardly wait.

* * *

The morning of the Solstice Ball Xanxus took a long shower after breakfast then spent a full five minutes with his wardrobe standing open, glaring at its contents.

There were half a dozen different ways he could play this, all of which would work but in different ways. So the question was: how did he want this to go? He could be fully formal and sober, emphasising the business aspect and the old fart's disregard for proper Vongola practice; he could wear his usual Varia Head uniform, fixing in everybody's minds that his strength and reputation would no longer shield them; he could dress in a manner reminiscent of his blood-father, forcing everybody to recognise his real heritage over the old fart's lies; he could mimic the old, faded photographs of Secondo and draw attention to the parallels and mirrors with the Vongola's history, but with the strong being driven out in favour of the indecisive and unrealistic this time around; he could wear more orange than usual, reminding people that to the wider Underworld he was the Alliance's most capable and visible Sky; he could even wear one of his uncanny-valley outfits, making it clear that he was a force to be feared and the old fart had thoroughly and deliberately alienated him.

But what did he _want_?

He wanted to be recognised as a mature and responsible adult. He wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted there to be no doubt in anybody's minds that without his protection the Vongola Alliance would be horrendously and immediately vulnerable to threats both internal and external, but for it also to be clear that he was taking this step because Nono Vongola had left him no other choice that enabled him to keep his dignity.

So… suitably formal but not overly sober; he had to show he had personality. Orange accents, maybe style his hair a bit like Nono Cavallone had, but lightly stitch the Varia Head accoutrements currently on his Varia jacket to his suit jacket, so they could be easily removed and thrown in the old fart's face.

He'd wear the tie with the prancing gold tigers Florrie had given him, along with the silly tiger socks; the tiger faces over his toes would be hidden in his dress shoes, but the stripes up the leg would be visible if he sat down. Black shirt under his suit –like Secondo– but orange amber cuff-links and one of the pumpkin-coloured handkerchiefs Florrie had given him this last birthday. Minimal feathers and no tails; he wanted to look like he was making an effort without entirely compromising himself. No guns –sadly– but he'd have all his rings –bar the Varia Rings which they'd all have to give back, but he'd already made replacements for those– and a range of other hold-out weapons. Mammon had been spitting tacks over having to leave the Varia Rings behind –they'd been shockingly expensive, mostly because they'd been a rush job– but they'd been bought with Varia money and had the Varia crest on, making them Varia property rather belonging to Xanxus personally.

Styling his hair to match the rather seventies' look Andrea Cavallone had favoured was going to be a pain, but at least the man had gone for a slightly dishevelled side-parting rather than a mullet; Xanxus refused to wear a mullet. It was named after a fucking _fish._ He was tall enough that nobody was going to be able to miss him, would have to push his Flame presence out so the old fart didn't try to smother him as soon as he walked in the door and didn't particularly care what his Officers wore; they were all adults, Bel included. They knew what was going down. They didn't need micromanaging.

Well, now that was decided he had most of the day to tie up loose ends and let Housekeeping finish packing up his rooms. His go-bag had Stripes the tiger in it along with several changes of clothes, but he should add his boots since he wouldn't be wearing them this evening. Then it would just be a matter of helping out around the building so everything was set, check over the modified security and have a bit of fun laying traps in the grounds with the last few Squads and most of the GMs. Anybody getting inside after they left would have to be able to prove they were Quality first, after all; it wouldn't do for them to be allowed to call themselves 'Varia' without that.

The phones were 'down' now, as Mammon had ripped out all the wiring last night and coiled up the copper for sale, so anybody trying to get in contact with the Varia would get an automated message saying the number could not be reached. All the electrics were down too –the computers had already been shipped out, along with the light bulbs– and the heating had been switched off and drained so Mammon could take out the radiators and pipes, so everybody was making do with Flame-tricks and blankets and battery packs. There was still cold water and the toilets flushed, but that was it… and only in those bathrooms that hadn't already been stripped of fittings, of course. That would continue late into the evening, after Xanxus and his Officers left for the ball. All of Housekeeping who were going to Mafia Land had left already, so the only ones left were those staying behind and they were too few to do all of the work.

Xanxus had taken on the responsibility of making sure the last few fridges stayed cold –Flame Ice was so handy– and had also ensured all the Cursed objects in the sub-basements had been properly packaged –read 'frozen solid'– for either transport or leaving behind securely. Flame Ice turned out to be a perfect insulator and Mammon was interested in whether the pieces would still be Cursed when they were eventually defrosted. If they weren't, then Xanxus had just accidentally solved a problem that had been plaguing the Varia for _decades_. He was also supervising the heavy lifting, because the mooks were in the final phase of that now and _everything_ was being ripped out and either packed up to be transferred or set aside to be delivered to whoever had bought it.

His last duty as Varia Boss would be closing the Archive with the updated files of retirement paperwork, so the semi-sentient room would 'know' that there were no more Varia on the active roster after tomorrow morning and to keep everybody out of the mission reports until a suitably intrepid hopeful had proved themselves to have Quality. The Archive usually limited itself to sending people walking in circles if they tried to get at paperwork they weren't authorised for, but it had once 'eaten' an over-ambitious mook who shouldn't have been in the room at _all_. In that the man had been seen walking in, but had never walked out again. That had been six years back; nobody ever found a body, so it was presumably still in there somewhere.

Xanxus wasn't too worried about the Archive's integrity; Mammon was anchoring the remaining Wards to it, so it could sustain itself, and there was a high enough ambient Flame level in the building to keep it going for over a decade even without that. It would outlive the old fart's policy failure and probably Chew Toy as well; if the eventual Undicesimo asked nicely, Xanxus might even come back, open the building and train up a new core Varia for them. Provided they paid well on top of grovelling apologetically.

However things went, they were well past the point of no return. He just had to decide what he wanted to say this evening, how he wanted to say it and make sure he got away clean.

* * *

Squalo flexed his fingers, stretched his shoulders and bounced lightly on his toes as Boss took his time climbing out of the car. It felt like the run-up to a fight, which it was; his Sky would however be fighting with words and implications, not blades or Flames. Well, there likely _would_ be a Flame aspect, but nobody was going to die. Not unless Nono Vongola had an untimely stroke or heart attack.

Boss straightened up, adjusted his jacket, tugged on his tie knot –much smarter and tighter than he usually bothered with– sighed and set off for the front door, Officers plus Mammon falling in around him. They were a mixed bag; Squalo was in his uniform –the insignia loosened so he could rip them off without damaging the jacket– and so were Bel and Sumu, but Luss was wearing a blouse, _sabai_ and _sinh_ –Thai traditional dress for special occasions– Maínomai had on a very swish blue wool suit and Mammon was dressed exactly the same as they ever were in their hood and robe.

The biggest difference really was Boss's hair; Squalo had _never_ seen it looking so tidy and it somehow enhanced the resemblance to Bronco, which was probably the point.

They swept past the trash on door duty, down the hallway, around the corner and into the ballroom, which was of course already full of dons, underbosses, House Heads and miscellaneous suck-ups, all schmoozing and picking at the buffet. Boss swiftly located the Cavallone party and headed over to say hello; seeing him standing next to that asshole Dario was fucking _uncanny_ in how it made the likeness impossible to miss.

It was making a bit of a stir really; Squalo could already hear the suck-ups and gossips with a good line of sight speculating breathlessly. The details of the late Andrea Cavallone's rampant womanising had seeped out into the open over the past six months –most of the focus on Bronco's determination to do well by his illegitimate siblings and how _gentlemanly_ he was rather than making much of the dead man's misdeeds– so nobody would have the slightest difficulty making the connection.

Boss being a Cavallone rather than a Vongola would be all over the Alliance before dawn; exactly as planned.

Lots of people were perceptibly wrong-footed by his Sky's mature but slightly playful choice of dress; also exactly as planned. Those people would now see Xanxus as a person rather than blindly going along with their own prejudices, making them less likely to dismiss tonight's happenings as 'sabotage' or 'an overreaction.' Boss looked like 'one of them' so they would subconsciously judge him accordingly, putting themselves in his shoes and weighing Don Vongola's actions according to what they would do if faced with such a choice.

The Varia –well ex-Varia now– had a betting pool on how much longer the Vongola would be leading the Alliance after this; Squalo had his money down on everything being over within the year.

Nono wouldn't demand Boss attend him immediately; he was far too busy being brown-nosed to by the sycophant brigade and would only bother to speak to his supposed 'son' once the event was well under way, so that Boss couldn't leave before then. Which on the one hand was rude –the Varia Head ran a Vongola House so should be one of the people Don Vongola greeted _first_ – but on the other it meant they had time to eat and add grist to the rumour mill before the floor show. Showing up at all was attention-grabbing enough, never mind the undercurrents that would get gradually more obvious to the other guests as the night progressed.

Grabbing a plate, Squalo served himself a decent array of bite-sized nibbles then drifted back to his Sky's elbow, avoiding the alcohol selection entirely. Pantera and Uncle Leone would probably wander this way soon enough, being rightly suspicious of why Boss was even here after being conspicuously absent for so many years running, so he needed to stay sharp.

With a bit of luck they could get things over with before midnight, but Squalo wasn't counting on it.

* * *

"Rain Officer."

So brat was practicing his manners? Squalo grinned. "Rain Guardian."

Springer grinned as off to one side Chew Toy managed to address Xanxus as 'cousin' without stuttering and bravely attempted small-talk. "Now we've completed the appropriate formalities, how are things going, sempai? I've not seen you for months."

Squalo rolled his eyes and playfully punched his apprentice in the shoulder. "Voi, it's all about what we were expecting," he said easily, which was completely honest yet utterly misleading. "You should stop by my Family before Christmas; I know Pantera wants to talk to you about something." Which yes, kitty _did_ , but the Superbi Heir would also want to cross-examine brat over what he'd noticed on his various Varia visits and what had been talked about. Which he would get away with; Springer was Squalo's apprentice and apprenticeships were a kind of adoption, so the Tenth Vongola Rain Guardian was a Superbi by technicality.

"No trouble with the mission caps then?" Brat was still sharp enough to cut himself.

"Nothing you can do anything about," Squalo said repressively. "Nono planned that well in advance, voi; he even had the paperwork on hand. You don't get to throw your weight around until your Sky's actually in charge." Which he wasn't yet, regardless of what Nono was saying about 'handing certain aspects of business on to the next generation.' Nono hadn't done any of that even back when his own sons had been alive and Federico had been Heir; if Federico had been busier and more involved in the business side, he'd probably not have had time to wander off and get immolated.

"As you say, sempai." There was still a hardness to Springer's eyes that indicated he was going to continue pushing his Sky on the matter, but Chew Toy had as much spine as the average jellyfish so clearly wasn't managing to make his preferences known to Nono. Not that Nono would do anything about said preferences anyway.

Then Ganache came over to tell Boss he was being summoned, so Squalo disentangled himself from his student and fell in alongside the others behind his Sky.

Showtime.

* * *

Xanxus kept his mouth firmly closed –teeth clenched– all through the old fart's meandering and frankly insulting greeting, which included snide commentary on how nice it was to see him at a social event –for once– and a long diatribe on how he needed to be less antisocial. The elderly fool eventually rambled to a halt, doubtless puzzled by Xanxus's lack of participation or irate interruptions.

"Don Vongola," the Varia Boss said clearly into the pause, deliberately pitching his voice to carry and trusting that Mammon and Maínomai between them could temporarily stymie Vongola Security's attempts to keep their don's conversations private, "I am tendering my resignation as Head of the Varia, effective immediately, in the hopes that you will find my successor less personally objectionable, and lighten or remove the sanctions placed on my subordinates in response to your displeasure at how I conduct my private family affairs." He removed the Varia Sky ring from his finger, pulled the various insignia from his suit jacket with a few quick tugs and placed the lot in the old fart's unresisting hands. Then he took a step back and gave a brief bow. "I, Xanxus Coguaro Cavallone, do formally and officially renounce my position within the Vongola Alliance; from today onwards I answer to my don and him alone." Those were the words to be spoken by a member of an Allied Family when stepping down from an Alliance role. "Goodbye."

With that he let Mammon shift him directly back to the car, where Lethe was waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

A wild update appears! Just the one, but to reassure everybody that yes, progress is happening. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

Squalo immediately stepped forwards into the stunned silence his Sky had left. "I, Rain Officer and Strategy Captain of the Varia, do formally tender my resignation in protest of the treatment of my House Head and Sky," he said clearly, removing his ring and insignia and shoving them at Visconti, who was the Vongola Guardian standing nearest to him.

"As do I, the Storm Officer and Head of Patrols," Bel enunciated smoothly, his poise and posture both confident and utterly dismissive as he also removed his ring and patch. "If my Sky is not welcome here then I will not stay without him." Rather than giving them to anybody he tossed them on the floor.

"I, Sun Officer and Head of Varia Medical do also tender my resignation in protest of my Sky's treatment," Lussuria said sweetly, removing ring and insignia from his clutch bag and pressing them into Nougat's hands with an acidic smirk.

"I, Mist Officer and Head of Information do tender my own resignation in protest of the unprofessional treatment of my House Head," Maínomai said, usual smile nowhere in evidence as he smoothly handed his ring and patch to Ganache. "If his contributions to the Vongola are not appreciated, then neither are my own."

"I, Cloud Officer and Head of Recruitment do tender my resignation in protest of Don Vongola's behaviour towards my House Head, which violates the Vongola treaties on the appropriate treatment of members of Allied Families employed within the Alliance," Sumu said coolly, removing her own ring and patch and stepping forwards to press them on Nougat, "and declare that I will be following him back to his Family rather than returning to my own until such a time as suitable recompense is made."

Well that was Don Scarlatti in their corner, if only to get his daughter back under his thumb; Lessi was so sneaky.

"I, the Treasurer of the Varia, do also announce my resignation in light of my Sky's despicable treatment by Nono Vongola," Mammon said, floating into the air to be on eye-level with the gobsmacked Don Vongola. "The end-of-year accounts will be delivered in a timely manner, but after that duty is discharged I shall take my leave."

With that there was a brief blurring and then the six of them were out by the car, which Boss was already sitting inside. Squalo clambered in as quickly as possible, as did the others, so the driver could get them off Vongola grounds before Security was ordered to stop them; they all needed to be out of the country within the hour, other than Mammon who was staying on until morning to ensure everything was disposed of in good order and the castle was properly locked up.

Their go-bags were in the boot, a Mist was waiting for them in Palermo to send them on to their next transfer point and they'd be on Mafia Land by dawn. This was it; time to eat popcorn and watch the fallout.

* * *

Dino had known for a while now that his brother would be retiring from the Varia. There'd been various meetings with Aunt Annamaria and Xanxus's insistence that yes, he _did_ need to move to Mafia Land, at least for a few years, because otherwise Nono Vongola wouldn't leave him alone. Dino had got the impression that the elderly man _still_ wouldn't leave his technically-older brother alone, but Don Vongola would at least have to go through Mafia Land's official channels and consider the politics of his ongoing harassment. The sheer physical distance would be another barrier, which could only help.

Nono Vongola was likely to still attempt to pressure or coerce Dino into ordering Xanxus 'home,' but the Decimo Cavallone would dig in his heels and refuse to cooperate there. His brother was a grown man who could do as he pleased, a fully capable and competent adult, and nothing short of a family emergency would persuade Dino to so much as pick up the phone there.

He'd had a feeling Squalo, Belphegor, Lussuria and Mammon would be retiring as well; they were after all his brother's Guardians. Dino had even known Varia Housekeeping were downsizing in response to Don Vongola's recent restrictions on mission numbers –a number of them were transferring to the nominally-Cavallone 'accident arrangement' business Xanxus had set up– but he'd never even _considered_ that the other two Varia Officers might also resign in protest of their boss's treatment. It was very clear nobody _else_ had considered it until now either; the aftermath of the former Varia elite's abrupt departure from the Vongola Solstice Ball was loud, chaotic and completely beyond their host's control.

"I'm so proud," Uncle Dario murmured lightly as Don Scarlatti muscled his way through the crush and started shouting at Don Vongola. Dino managed to pick out the words 'my daughter,' 'violations' and 'two-faced' before he was boxed in by a bunch of determined socialites and underbosses wanting _his_ take on things.

Whatever else could be said about Ottone Scarlatti, he was at least a man of firm moral principles who had raised his children to be equally moral and principled, so took a very dim view of other people not keeping to those same high standards. He also had absolute faith in both his children's moral fibre; witness his going on a tear in public purely on his daughter's say-so.

"So it's 'Xanxus Coguaro Cavallone' now, is it?" Orietta Prizzi asked coyly, hanging off her father's arm. "How exactly is he related to you, Dino?"

Well now the cat was out of the bag he could tell all. "He's my half-brother; his mother was second-generation Superbi," Dino said honestly. "He had a Mist-test done after Dario noticed the resemblance to my father and the evidence is very persuasive; the lab test confirming it was almost superfluous. I honestly have no idea how Don Vongola missed it; Xanxus looks shockingly similar to my late brother Vincenzo at the same age, beyond the obvious difference in hair colour."

"Who says he missed it?" Sara Visconti murmured, side-eyeing the far end of the ballroom where Don Superbi had joined the shouting match, the hard edge and steady pace of his words carrying all too well. More on 'treaty violations' and 'abuse of Alliance members,' how awkward; Tsuna was standing well back from the argument, shrinking behind his own Guardians and looking pale and stunned as Yamamoto and Chrome wrangled would-be gossipers with smooth finesse and Gokudera flailed angrily, repelling people far less gracefully. Reborn had been wandering around earlier but had vanished about an hour back; for a nap, according to Caretta. His former tutor would be terribly grumpy over having missed the show.

"I lack the means to open an investigation the deaths of my older brothers," Dino said very deliberately in response to Sara's insinuation, "or the support to question Don Vongola's motives in suggesting to my father that his personal hitman tutor me thereafter. I _do_ know that Xanxus's retirement was partly motivated by his discomfort with Don Vongola's insistence on the filial deference owed to him despite the known absence of a blood connection, as well as the previous deliberate concealment of said absence by Don Vongola. My brother was not legally adopted and it is well-known that Nono Vongola consciously presented himself as Xanxus's biological father, including to my brother's mother; she relinquished his guardianship based on that misrepresentation, which I believe the Superbi consider to be kidnapping." Dino agreed with them there, as it happened. False pretences meant a fraudulent claim, making Timoteo's actions theft and child trafficking.

The narrowed eyes and tight lips of the sharp-eared and well-connected social climbers hanging on his every word were extremely satisfying; that Don Zanasi was standing a little way off pretending not to listen made it even more so.

"So you accepted Xanxus as a cadet member of your family, based on the blood connection?" Piero Ruffo asked idly, the lightness of his tone in stark contrast to the calculation in his eyes.

"I legitimated him as my Heir," Dino said evenly, thoroughly enjoying the way everybody's eyes widened. "I'm not married and my late uncle's children are not even in their teens yet, so he was the obvious choice. I know Xanxus would do right by our Family should it come to the worst; just look at how he put the Varia ahead of his own advancement and how loyal and devoted his subordinates are."

"So Timoteo's recent machinations against Xanxus could also be considered a slight against you personally, seeing as it is your Heir that he was attempting to suborn away from the Cavallone," Eduardo Prizzi noted lightly, patting his daughter's hand soothingly as she dug her fingertips into his forearm.

"Xanxus requested that I keep his status quiet until his retirement, to prevent accusations of insubordination," Dino commented, glancing pointedly down at his own manicured nails, "since Don Vongola has already made it abundantly clear that he is prepared to inflict disproportionate punishment whenever my brother attempts to step outside the role he was cast in by his self-declared parent."

"His disappearance," Flavia Visconti said quietly, coming up beside her twin nieces and shooing them off towards their father.

"And the Ring Battles," Dino added, maliciously enjoying the anticipated fallout of this particular bombshell. "He did not believe at that time that he had any Vongola blood at all, but was nonetheless ordered both to participate and to limit himself to his opponent's skill level, which may well have prompted the Vongola Rings' unusual reaction to him." Historically, the Vongola Rings either killed a prospective Heir or didn't react at all; Xanxus getting mildly injured was new and therefore interesting.

 _That_ sent the eavesdropping Don Zanasi off towards Don Prizzi, picking up Don Lanza on their way over to where the shouting was starting to wind down. Sure enough, a few seconds later the commotion picked up significantly, with new voices joining the fray. 'False pretences' and 'rigged,' indeed; there went the legitimacy of Tsuna's claim on the Decimo position.

Dino did not particularly _like_ politicking, but he was by no means incompetent. His cheerful and friendly image was just that; he'd not have lived this long if he'd been genuinely naïve. He liked Tsuna –he really, truly did– but fondness was not enough for a solid business relationship and Xanxus opening his eyes to Nono Vongola's unhesitant and flagrant violation of the customs and traditions of the Vongola Alliance made it abundantly clear that if the Vongola was going to survive, it needed a good shaking first. Gentle, civilian Tsuna, with his blind morals and thoughtless assumptions, was not the right person to do that; he might possibly be the right person to pick up the pieces afterwards, but only if he genuinely wanted to do so.

Which was very much still in question.

* * *

 _Cold._

 _Terrible burning cold, wrapping around his ribs like a vice and suffocating him. Can't move –no Flames where are his Flames– can't breathe–_

 _Oh God can't_ _ **breathe**_ _–_

Squalo shot out of bed, tumbled across the floor desperately clawing at the constricting sheets and had staggered halfway across his new living room before it clicked that it had been a nightmare. Well, a night terror; nightmares were generally more coherent. Lowering himself to the floor with an ungainly thump, the Rain groaned, shoved his hair out of his face –a cold sweat again, lovely– and leaned back against the couch.

This was the fourth time in as many days that he'd been launched out of bed at an ungodly hour by his Sky's night terrors seeping through their Flame bond, which was a side-effect nobody had ever mentioned was possible; not to him anyway. He should probably stagger across the hall and spend the rest of the night sitting next to Xanxus on the floor, as he had the first, second and third times this had happened, but right now all Squalo wanted was a shower, a glass of water and an uninterrupted night's sleep.

The shower would probably have to wait, but the drink didn't have to. Sleep was probably a lost cause, sadly; what time was it even?

Stumbling back into his bedroom –which stank of sweat and fear, urgh– Squalo checked his phone –two in the morning, joy he'd had barely three hours– wrapped up his hair in a messy bun and opened the window a crack to air out the smell. Then he stopped by the bathroom for that glass of water and to use the toilet, grabbed his rings and jacket –complete with Bound sword in case of emergencies– let himself out of his new flat and crossed the hallway to Xanxus's.

The door was slightly open and Squalo could feel Luss and Mammon; not just him then, despite the others living on the next floor up of the apartment block leased with Cavallone money in Xanxus's name.

Not just him, _again_. Bel would probably come stumbling down the stairs inside the next five minutes, dragging his blankets and grumbling about royalty needing a full night's sleep. Luss and Mammon hadn't stopped for water but Bel was just taking his time, knowing that the rest of them were already here.

Letting himself inside, Squalo ignored the light-switch and meandered around the coffee table to where Xanxus was curled up on the floor, face buried in the front of Lussuria's frilly dressing gown, trembling uncontrollably as the bespectacled Sun crooned softly in Thai and ran gentle fingers through their Sky's hair.

These weren't just night terrors to Xanxus; they were memories. If that was what being frozen in Zero-Point had felt like then Squalo was honestly unsurprised that he was having screaming nightmares; the only surprising thing was that they'd taken so long to surface.

Or maybe not; Xanxus had been directly under Don Vongola's thumb after being defrosted, promptly been re-traumatised and despite the additional distance permitted following that, he'd still been well within the shitty old man's reach. He'd only started to have somewhere free from the shadow of that suffocating authority after meeting Florrie, so he associated his Cloud with safety and security even as working through his trauma brought all manner of horrors to the surface.

However Xanxus had been sleeping under that Cloud-tinged blanket Florrie had given him for well over a year now and spending a lot of nights in the bed on the farmstead, which also carried a distinct taint from the year she'd spent sleeping on it. So now here Xanxus was, finally completely outside Don Vongola's reach and 'safe' to properly let go and work through everything he'd experienced, but with all his comfort objects packed away in shipping containers and not due to arrive for another week, minimum.

When you looked at it that way the night terrors were kind of inevitable; Squalo just wished he'd seen this coming so he could have made sure the quilt went in his Sky's go-bag rather than in a crate with the rest of his bedding. He'd not shared Xanxus's bed since the first night when he'd been launched across the room by his panicking Sky barely an hour and a half after dropping off –he still had the bruises– which wasn't helping anybody's mood really. Xanxus felt guilty, Squalo was unhappy that he couldn't help Xanxus feel safe, Luss was fretting over both of them and neither Bel nor Mammon really knew how to cope with their Sky falling apart on them.

Mammon was currently curled up on the couch with a cup of milk, wearing an indigo onesie patterned with frogs and a pixie hat that hid as much of their face as the usual hood, leaning heavily into a large cushion and looking about as alert as a sleepwalker. Squalo didn't blame them; Mammon was physically eight or so now, so needed sleep even more than the rest of them. It was however hard to sleep when your Sky was radiating distress and misery and having vivid flashbacks.

Squalo settled on the floor beside his Sky's hip, running a firm hand up the man's spine and then back down again like he was petting Bester. Xanxus twitched, the convulsive shuddering relenting slightly and his breathing gradually evened out a bit.

Bel finally stumbled in, dragging a quilt and mumbling grumpily, closed the door behind him and summoned his albino mink in a flash of red, the Box Weapon skittering across the floor and draping itself across Xanxus's shoulders as the pyjama-clad royal joined Mammon on the couch.

Squalo watched his Sky's hand reach up, fingers tentatively splaying across the mink's fur; the little pest chittered at him, but allowed the imposition with the haughty graciousness of an emperor. Night two had revealed that fluffy Box Weapons helped Xanxus ground himself in the present, but their Sky couldn't safely call on Bester or Optima when he was like this –they'd come out in a battle rage– and of the four of them only Bel had a Box Weapon with fur, so they had to make do with the tiny mink. One of the therapy greyhounds would probably have worked too, but all of those had been assigned already and Xanxus wasn't in any fit state to make a new one for Luss right now. They could have got one of the others to lend theirs, but none of them had any idea how their Sky would react to non-Guardian Flames in his immediate vicinity while he was like this. Probably badly; it was already a miracle he let _them_ near him without lashing out.

Nono Vongola should be grateful they were on the far side of the planet from him now, because if they hadn't been Lussuria and Bel would have snuck out to commit murder by now and Mammon would have provided an ironclad alibi.

This was, Squalo decided grimly as his Sky's shivers mutated into quiet, choked sobs, his worst Christmas morning _ever_.

* * *

"Merry Christmas, cousin!"

Xanxus hummed into the phone, too drained to manage a reply but still vaguely grateful to Pantera for calling. The last few days had been a downward slide into what Lussuria had informed him was a mix of delayed grief and his finally feeling safe enough stop repressing his trauma. Which, okay it was nice to know he wasn't crazy but it was still exhausting. He felt numb when he wasn't crying or feeling irrationally panicky and was remembering all kinds of things he'd much rather _not_ , all things considered.

The night terrors were shit and very blatantly PTSD related; he didn't _want_ to viscerally re-experience what being frozen had felt like, but at one-tenth of the speed! Or the burning agony of being defrosted, every muscle and nerve screaming but unresponsive as his Flame-senses kicked back in with a vengeance and bellowed that he was _UNSAFE_.

He'd had to order the shark to sleep in his own damn bed; he didn't want to injure his Rain again. He'd barely recognised the man in time to pull what would have been a lethal strike…

"Since Squalo failed to inform me you were leaving we couldn't hand over your presents in advance, but I'm having them all sent across to Dino so he can make sure they get to you," the cat continued warmly, the slight sharpness in his tone when saying the shark's name making it clear the Superbi Heir was a very grumpy kitty over having the wool pulled over his eyes so neatly. "Your aunt says hello and so does your grandma –I think they've written you letters to go with your presents– and guess what? My little lioness is talking! She called me Papà yesterday! And she's walking much more steadily now and really starting to climb, so we have to keep an eye on her or else she zooms off and up the shelving."

Xanxus managed a chuckle; that was a very amusing mental image.

"In more general news, Miss Yuni woke up a toddler on Christmas Eve and threw a screaming Flaming tantrum when the Vindice refused to lend her the Sky Pacifier to reverse it," Pantera continued, "and has been behaving exactly as expected of a child in the midst of the terrible twos ever since. I called Gamma today to offer some parental advice, since my own daughter is also going through that phase, and he was greatly relieved to have a sympathetic ear to vent to."

Well that was entertaining; Xanxus wondered who exactly had made that happen.

"Immacolata took a turn on the phone too and now has the poor man's number, since the Giglio Nero are sadly short on senior female members to provide maternal role-models," the cat continued airily, "so once she's settled a bit and has learned not to be such an autocratic little madam we might arrange a few play-dates."

Xanxus snorted at the mental image that conjured. Clearly Miss Spook had been turned into an _actual_ toddler, not just shrunk, so her now smaller and more plastic brain was likely to have lost all the higher reasoning capacities and conscious memory retention that were so very necessary to her façade, leaving a screaming child who expected to be catered to and assumed herself the centre of the universe. Just like every other toddler on the planet.

"And now I think I smell a nappy in need of changing," kitty went on with wry aplomb, "So I will say goodbye and carry out my paternal duties. I'll call again in a few days' time, to let you know how everybody's doing."

"Thanks; bye," Xanxus managed.

"You are very welcome, Coguaro; until next time!" Cat hung up; Xanxus set the phone aside and rolled over onto Stripes, wishing he could call Florrie. No matter _what_ shark said, it would be inconsiderate to call her while she was spending time with her dying grandma and expect her to make time for his issues. He was visiting her for the New Year and that was less than a week away; he could cope until then.

* * *

"Squalo you shithead you could have _warned_ me!"

Despite his exhaustion and the headache growing behind his eye, Squalo couldn't help but smirk at his cousin's irritation. "Orders were to keep it on the down-low, kitty."

"Oh fuck you very much, cousin," Pantera retorted. "I know you: if you'd wanted to, you could have got around that. Dropped a few hints, insinuated; you inconsiderate toothy garbage disposal, you!"

"Voi, I did drop hints," Squalo complained, letting the insult slide as he settled more comfortably on his bed, the phone cradled against his ear; he'd heard worse. "Told you about the caps and the pressures being brought to bear; Boss resigning in protest was pretty much a given, seeing as those were _his_ orders."

Cat made a grumbly snarling sound over the phone; presumably at having missed the 'hint' dropped. Although it hadn't really been much of a hint at all; Squalo had _wanted_ this to be a surprise, so nobody could accuse his relatives of collusion.

"Your failure to provide the Family with more than the most _token_ of warnings aside," Pantera said pointedly, "there's been a lot going on. Miss Yuni is now a toddler in both body and mind –we have the Gesso to thank for that apparently– the Zanasi have contacted us about setting up a rapid-response team to deal with the sudden glut of opportunists sniffing around the Alliance's borders in your absence and the Rocca have set a date early next year to break ground for the hospital. It will take a few years to complete, but there should be a working walk-in clinic, an overnight ward and one surgical suite ready by the summer."

"Take it the Alliata are involving themselves on the defence side of things?" The Alliata were the Alliance's farmers and suppliers, maintaining a lot of the necessary civilian infrastructure, but they tended to respond proactively when faced with threats on their home turf. There were limestone caves under a portion of Alliata territory, and sometimes people fell into sinkholes and were never seen again. Quite a lot of old mines to stumble into as well, some going back to the Ancient Greek period; plenty of ways for a trespasser to go missing.

"Not currently," Pantera replied, "but I'm expecting them to start doing so within the month; I'm keeping in touch so they're aware of the threat and the school security's being improved over the holidays at great expense. God knows where we're going to hide that in the budget."

"Ask for donations?" Squalo suggested. "It's everybody's kids after all."

"Word it to make it ambiguous whether or not the security is already in place, as incentive," the sneaky cat muttered quietly, "that would light a fire under people; only Family without kids in the Academy are the Vongola."

"Chew Toy's Lightning isn't attending?" Brat was elementary age, so he should be in school if he was here.

A pause. "What an interesting tangent to pursue," Pantera said idly, paper rustling at his end of the line. "After all, if his Sky is taking over upon reaching his majority –which is in the coming year– then yes, he _should_ be attending school here. Making connections, learning relevant material and so on; not attending a foreign civilian school. Your charming apprentice stopped by on the twenty-third, by the way; I gave him your mobile number since the Varia line seems to be down."

Okay, here was an opportunity to give cat a heads-up to distract him from eventual payback. "Varia's empty."

"What."

"Xanxus announced he was retiring back at the end of August; within the month everybody in the building decided to resign in protest," Squalo explained. "Caps not being sustainable was only part of it; nine-tenths of the rank-and-file were more personally loyal to Boss than devoted to the Vongola cause, and Nono interfering with our right to rule ourselves pissed _everybody_ off. Varia Headquarters is closed, empty and trapped to protect proprietary secrets; Mammon's delivering the accounts the day after St Stephens. Have somebody in the finance office waiting and you can sneak a copy out, see how bad things got." Well, how bad things would have got if Mammon had limited themselves to above-board funding. "Redundancy pay for Housekeeping strained things, but we finished in the black. Just."

"So the domestic security issue is about to be _urgent_." Cat sighed heavily. "Well, _some_ notice is better than no notice, _cousin_ , so I will start making phone calls. Discreetly; I think this is something best kept under wraps until other people start getting curious as to who the new Varia leadership is and go poking about. I'll make sure nobody Superbi sticks their nose in; we have more important things to be getting on with, after all."

"How close to war footing are we now?" With Nono Vongola disregarding the treaties by strangling Superbi employment opportunities, the Family had the leeway to rearm and demand a complete renegotiation of all contracts between Superbi and Vongola-affiliated parties. Or just split off without warning and refuse to renew the traditional oaths; whichever was most convenient. Either way the local economy would tank, since the Superbi were involved in about three-quarters of the middleman business between the Alliance and customers and suppliers abroad.

"Two steps down and one to the side," Pantera said casually. "In light of your latest surprise I suspect we may have to move another step up and sideways; neither Don Vongola nor his chosen Heir have the necessary presence and charisma to deter more organised and determined opportunism. I'll keep you up to date; goodbye, cousin." He hung up.

Squalo rolled his eyes at the abrupt end of the conversation and set his phone on the bedside table. He was going to nap; if he got a few hours in now he might feel less inclined to stab somebody when Xanxus inevitably woke him up later tonight.

* * *

"Happy Christmas, Xanxus! Is this a good time?"

Xanxus turned his back on the boxes sitting in the basement room set up to become his workshop, heading up the stairs back to his new private living room. "Not a bad time," he replied; no worse than any other time, at least. He wasn't managing to get _anything_ done so he may as well talk to the horse.

"Well in that case, the family want to say hi!" There as a click. "Say hello to Xanxus, everybody!"

There was a ragged chorus of hellos and happy Christmases, Demetrio and Denise's voices high and clear past the more moderate adult tones of everybody else.

"To you too," he managed, an emotional pang making him shiver and have to wipe away a sudden spate of tears.

"I'm sending your gifts over on St Stephens, so they should arrive by the first week of January," Dino went on, clicking off the speaker, "and while there _was_ going to be a bottle of wine in there, Dingo decided my need was greater than yours and cracked it open on the twenty-second."

"Any left?"

"No, I drank the lot by dinnertime," Dino said cheerfully, a slightly vindictive note underpinning the determined positivity, "and after what got sprung on me at the ball, I regret nothing."

Xanxus snorted. "Fair."

"Everybody's doing just fine; the Ferri left a present on my doorstep this morning –the books for a business just over the Palermo border that we suspected was sabotaging some of our farms– so we've got them over a barrel and will be taking appropriate steps in the next few days," his younger brother continued amiably. 'Ferri' was what the accident arrangement business being run by retired Varia had decided to call themselves; a horse joke since ' _ferri di cavallo_ ' were horseshoes and an 'irons in the fire' reference, as well as being something they could pass off as somebody's surname.

They had no direct connections to him –by design– but Xanxus knew that the people they'd picked up from Varia Housekeeping would still be in touch with Tyrant, so even though he was staying very deliberately ignorant and unconnected beyond being their silent backer in his capacity of Heir Cavallone –money provided from the Family coffers– news would pass back and forth reasonably freely.

There was now a gaping hole in the murder market and all manner of trash would be rushing to fill it just as soon as news trickled out that the Varia was no more. He wasn't going to be picking up any of that business, but there was no reason why his men –and women– shouldn't; they were free to do so if they wished.

The official governing structure of the formerly-Varia was much more like that of a traditional Family now: he was the boss and in charge, but what individuals did to earn the money to pay their tithes was only his business if they failed to comply with the guidelines he'd laid down in their oaths. Tithe money went into building maintenance, bills, paying the Housekeeping staff and keeping everybody fed; he had his own funds for living the high life, should he ever be bothered.

So far everybody was enjoying themselves on the funfair, exploring the island and relaxing, so personal enterprises were unlikely to kick off until after New Year. Possibly not until February in some cases; certain people were really enjoying the change in scene.

Horse rambled on a little longer about what various Cavallone-related individuals, families and businesses were getting up to, wished Xanxus happy Christmas again and then said his goodbyes, citing a need to attend dinner. Dinner had been six hours previously for the sleep-deprived Sky –Mafia Land was currently floating somewhere in the South China Sea– so he hung up on his little brother and wandered over to a window.

They were more or less on the equator here, so the sun had set about six and four hours on the sky was lit up with funfair lights drowning out the stars. Not that Xanxus could see the lights directly; his apartment was basically ground floor –raised about a metre above ground level so the basement rooms could have windows– so all he could see of the amusement park was multicoloured haze above the trees and buildings opposite. If not for the sound filter around the Cavallone-owned apartment block he'd be able to hear it clearly, but Mammon had wanted to be able to sleep at night and had taken steps to ensure it.

Xanxus's current plan for hopefully getting a bit more sleep was to let Bester out before turning in and hoping that the liger would either wake him if his dreams turned sour or if not, be sufficient reminder of the present to help him ground himself before sunrise and maybe get in another few hours sleep.

He'd not had more than three hours at a time in the past four days, his unintentional afternoon nap on the sofa yesterday being curtailed just as forcefully by abject terror as when he used the bed.

He'd thought enjoying the feel of Florrie's Flames around him in bed was a kink, but it turned out to have been a security blanket instead. On the one hand a relief; on the other, still embarrassing. Or it might have been, had Xanxus not been too exhausted to care.

He felt abysmal and not being able to rest wasn't helping at all.

* * *

The Varia plane, being the _Varia_ plane, was back in Sicily, in a hanger at the Palermo airport, eating Vongola money with every day it continued to exist as the only asset still belonging to the Varia other than the uninhabitable castle. Well, not _entirely_ uninhabitable: the roof didn't leak, there was running water piped in –if no taps beyond the one main stopcock in the kitchens– and a single, solitary and rather elderly toilet that had been left on the basis that taking it out would probably break it; a few of its contemporaries had after all, so it had been decided that attempting to move it wasn't worth the trouble of clearing up shattered porcelain. The plane wasn't trapped –that would be unfair to the civilian ground crew now responsible for its upkeep– but it was also drastically more expensive than the castle, even taking property taxes into account. All kinds of expenses went into keeping a plane running, from a hangar to store it in, people to look it over and replacement parts to buy, pilots to fly it and fuel to power it.

Squalo however wished right now that they'd brought the plane with them. Because if they'd brought the plane, they wouldn't have had to spent _fifteen hours_ on a flight from Bangkok in order to visit Florrie for New Year. They'd got on the plane at seven in the morning, local time, and got off at two in the afternoon, local time, feeling like it was ten o'clock at night and all utterly shattered because they were sleep-deprived, jittery after _fifteen fucking hours_ on a civvie flight and running on fumes due to not having had even half a night's sleep in over a week.

Squalo passed on getting a hire car –maybe after New Year when he was less likely to fall asleep at the wheel– and flagged down a taxi. Fitting all five of them –plus luggage– into the back of the hackney carriage was a little bit of a squeeze, but Mammon was asleep –had been carried off the flight snoring gently and was yet to wake– Bel was a staggering zombie too exhausted to make a fuss and Xanxus was barely responsive and in some kind of semi-conscious fugue, so Luss had no trouble gently shooing everybody into seats and doing up seatbelts as Squalo tried and failed to remember Florrie's address and had to call her so she could tell it to the driver over the phone.

The driver very considerately did not put any music on or attempt conversation.

* * *

Squalo woke to Luss shaking him. "We've arrived," the Sun said quietly, not bothering with the usual endearments. Too tired, probably; Squalo groaned, rubbing his face and trying to get his thoughts in order.

Too much effort. Especially since Luss was clearly running on Flames in order to stay awake.

"The driver's carrying the bags up to the front door and putting them in the hall; I'm going to tip generously when he's finished," Luss continued. "I've already taken Mammon in; Florrie's put them on her couch and got out some more blankets to tuck them in. If you help me with Boss, we can hand him off to her and then get Bel out."

Glancing around revealed that Bel was fast asleep and Xanxus was basically catatonic, eyes slightly open but Flames flickering aimlessly. "Voi, right," Squalo agreed long-sufferingly, levering himself up and reaching over to pull his Sky's upper body into his arms. He would have to basically drag Xanxus out of the cab –the man was too tall to remove otherwise– and then he and Luss could carry him between them.

Holy mother of God, the asshole weighed a _ton_. He was trying to walk a bit though, which was something; not managing massively well however.

They had an upset at the front door of Florrie's flat because their idiot sleep-deprived Sky fell forwards onto her and nearly squashed her; just curled up around her on the floor as Squalo was cursing and rolling his wrenched shoulder gingerly and _went to sleep_. Fifteen hours on the shitty plane, five hours awake before that following a night terror that had somehow dragged to the surface Squalo's fake memories of Zakuro-Gamera trashing half his forearm, however-long in the cab just now – a few hours? They hadn't landed at Florrie's local airport– and he _just_ _started snoring_ the moment he got his hands on his Cloud!

Fuck that and everything and Xanxus in particular, seriously.

Squalo still helped drag the idiot into Florrie's bedroom and dump him on her bed, then left her to undress him a bit as he went back to the cab to carry Bel out. Despite being twenty now the Storm was only a hundred and seventy centimetres tall and definitely wasn't growing anymore; he was also skinny, so easily carried. He nodded at the cabbie in passing –the man nodding back in between counting the wad of notes Luss had handed over– walked up the steps, crossed the hall into Florrie's flat and poured his burden onto the couch next to Mammon; there was more than enough room for both of them.

"Squalo?" He turned to see their hostess in the doorway leading towards her bathroom and bedroom, looking and feeling extremely worried.

"He's been having nightmares," Squalo managed after a second to realise what was probably bothering her. "Well, night terrors actually. Since he's actually properly out of reach of the shithead that traumatised him for the first time _ever_ so it's all hitting him at once." What else was important here? "You make him feel safe; you physically and the feel of your Flames around him. He might still have nightmares –probably will– but I doubt they'll be anywhere near as bad as they have been."

"Have _any_ of you been sleeping?"

"Not really."

Florrie sighed, leaning sideways to rest her forehead against the door jamb. "Right. Okay. Are you hungry?"

"Not really, petal," Luss admitted from outside the flat's front door. Probably moving the suitcases and bags out of the way, Squalo realised. Fuck, he _needed_ sleep.

"Squalo?"

"No." He'd probably be hungry later, but right now he was just tired. Achingly, overwhelmingly exhausted, even; food could wait.

"Okay. I made up duvets and got blankets out already, so you can either make beds upstairs or just bring them down from where I left them on the landing and crash on my carpet by the sofa; feel free to rearrange the coffee table. I'm going to move the floor cushion into the bedroom and do patchwork; help yourselves to tea, there're sandwiches in the fridge and fruit in the fruit bowl. Dinner is soup, which is also in the fridge and just needs heating on the stove, and there's more bread in the bread crock; again, help yourselves whenever."

Sleep now and food –including hot food– later; sounded fantastic.

Florrie walked past him to grab the big cushion, straightened the blankets so Bel and Mammon were properly covered and picked up her sewing bag on the way past. "Sleep well."

That sounded wonderful actually; he could barely remember what 'sleeping well' felt like.

* * *

 _He needed to take a piss._

 _Xanxus got out of bed, crossed his lavish bedroom in the Iron Fort, ignoring the posters on the walls and how defiantly they clashed with the pastel-and-gold décor as he made his way to his en-suite bathroom._

 _He'd just pulled his dick out of his pyjama trousers when his father walked in and started lecturing him on how disrespectful it was of him to just walk out of a meeting. "You need to keep your temper in check, my son; a Vongola does not storm out of the room simply because he has been told something he didn't want to hear." A pause, "and using the toilet in front of me is equally disrespectful; you should have gone beforehand."_

 _Xanxus felt his eyebrow twitch. "I was in bed! When was I_ supposed _to go?!"_

" _Beforehand," the old fart said firmly, glaring down –no, up– at him. "Come back to the study right now and apologise to Don Arena for your rudeness."_

 _Fuck that; this wasn't real. He was dreaming. He needed to–_

– _wake up. He_ definitely _needed to use the toilet. Xanxus rolled out of his bed in his Varia suite, briefly smoothing the quilt Florrie had given him under his hands before crossing the room and walking into his private bathroom._

 _It was empty; no bathtub, no shower, no sink, no toilet, nothing. Hell, even the light fitting and the tiles on the walls and floor were gone!_

" _The fuck?"_

" _Mammon took it all out, remember Boss?" Squalo said from behind him; Xanxus spun to glare at his Rain Officer, who was leaning in the doorway behind him, wearing the tattered Saxon band t-shirt and grey tracksuit bottoms he often slept in. His prosthetic gleamed blackly, the enamelled plating in stark contrast to pale, lightly scarred skin. "We don't live here anymore."_

 _Grumbling, Xanxus forced his eyes open again–_

– _and crawled out of his new bed in his private apartment on Mafia Land, walking out into the landing. He really needed to piss; where was the bathroom here?_

" _Xanxus, I really cannot be doing with you unreasonableness," the old fart said, his Flames filling the small space. The fuck was he_ doing _here?! "You should have come home years ago."_

 _Flames turned cold and biting, they were back in the catacombs under the Vongola, the smell of blood and limestone in his nose as the old fart pointed his sceptre at him–_

– _Xanxus turned and ran, because fuck this. He just wanted to take a bloody piss!_

 _The corridors twisted randomly as he ran through deserted halls and jumped storm drains; he didn't even know where he was going anymore. He couldn't feel the old fart anywhere around though, which was something._

" _Feel better now?"_

 _Xanxus stared as at his Cloud, leaning against a nearby pillar, soaking wet in her purple sundress and dripping on the stone. "You can't be here. You've_ never _been here."_

" _This is a dream, so why can't I be here?" Florrie pointed out reasonably._

Xanxus opened his eyes, blinked at the utter blackness in front of him and reached out with his Flames before even getting out of bed this time. Florrie was curled up next to him, fast asleep, the rest of his Guardians were barely five metres away –probably in his Cloud's front room– all equally dead to the world and almost on top of each-other.

He _desperately_ needed to take a piss.

Sliding cautiously out of bed, he hissed quietly at how cold it was; he was wearing the same t-shirt he'd put on before heading out for the flight this morning –yesterday morning by now maybe– and his boxers but nothing else, and it was far too cold to be wearing so little.

Cranking up his Flames a bit to counter the chill, Xanxus shuffled cautiously over to his suitcase and flicked the combination lock open by feel, pulling out the warm pyjamas he'd packed and putting them on over his clothes. The he made his way carefully out of his Cloud's bedroom, a few steps down the hall and into the bathroom.

The room was dimly lit by diffuse light through the blind, coming from the streetlights up by the front of the house. Ignoring the light switch, Xanxus used the toilet, flushed it, washed his hands and then realised his mouth felt like something had died in it.

He was thirsty as anything and his head had caught up to the fact he was now awake and was aching. Opening the door of his Cloud's bathroom cabinet, he retrieved the enamelled mug sitting upside-down on the bottom shelf and filled it with water. Drank the water, refilled it, repeated the action.

He felt better almost immediately, which said how dehydrated he still was; Xanxus drank another mug of bitterly cold tap water. What time was it? Other than 'night time'?

Florrie had clocks in every room of her house; the bathroom clock was the loudest one and it had been ticking steadily in the background from the moment he opened the door. Leaning in, Xanxus could just make out the hands as he slowly sipped his way through another mug of water: it was a quarter past four in the morning. Noon for him then; not that he'd really had a chance to adjust to Mafia Land time –which changed regularly anyway– since he'd not exactly been sleeping much this past week.

Now he wasn't in need of emptying his bladder or gagging for a drink he was tired again; yawning, Xanxus washed up the cup in the sink with the hand soap, left it on its side over by the bath to dry then headed back to bed.

He was asleep again almost before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Squalo woke up cold. Grumbling under his breath, he shuffled over towards his go-bag –duvet, blanket and all– and tugged it under the covers. He knew _exactly_ why he was cold: it was the middle of winter in chilly England, the middle of the night, the central heating was on a timer –so it had been off for several hours now– and rather than lying on a nice insulating mattress, he was on a thin carpet over a parquet floor. Yanking the zip open, he fished around and pulled out a pair of warm socks and a woolly jumper, shoved the bag away again, put on the additional clothing over his pyjamas and snuggled determinedly back under his blankets, cocooning them around himself and over his head.

Rain Flames weren't particularly efficient at heating, so there wasn't any point in calling on them to counter the chill he was feeling. Better to curl up in a ball and wait for the improved insulation to keep enough of his body heat in for him to be able to drop off again.

He had no idea what time it was and didn't care.

* * *

The second time he woke up he needed the toilet and Florrie was pottering quietly around the kitchen getting out pans and utensils, a tray piled high with plastic packets sitting next to her on the counter. Getting to his feet, Squalo determined that the heating had been on for several hours –the room was decently warm– and that nobody else was awake. With that in mind, he decided to take a shower. Not in the flat though; it'd be more considerate to leave the bathroom free, so people could use the toilet.

"Morning Squalo," his fellow Guardian said as he got to his feet and stretched. "I'm cooking porridge for myself, then doing sausages and bacon for everybody."

"Sounds great," Squalo agreed; the smell would wake everybody up, if nothing else. "Going upstairs for a shower first, though." Now he was better rested he could appreciate the little potted Christmas tree on a low stool in the bay window, covered in baubles and other decorations, the holly sprigs perched on top of the picture frames around the room, the nativity scene on top of one of the speakers and the fairy lights blu-tacked around the outside of the bookshelf. The room looked very seasonal and cheery and there was a rather pleasant spice-smoke-and-pine smell that was probably coming from the half-burned candles sitting in the fireplace.

"There're showers next to the laundry room," Florrie reminded him. "An entire wet room with space for a full squad, in fact."

Oh yeah, he'd forgotten about that; a toilet too just next door, if he remembered right. "Towels in the airing cupboard?" The main one was upstairs, but there was a smaller one in the laundry as well.

"Yeah; it's just towels and tea-towels in the downstairs one."

"Great." Squalo picked up his go-bag. "I'll get dressed in the laundry room."

"See you in a bit then."

* * *

Squalo was still tired –one uninterrupted night's sleep wasn't going to make up for a week's deficit– but he felt less completely terrible after almost fourteen hours' rest and a hot shower. Sleeping on the floor hadn't done his back any favours –fuck he was getting old– but the hot water had helped and so did a quick stretching routine after he was dressed again.

His damp hair temporarily bundled up on the back of his head, the Rain headed back across the building for breakfast; he could smell the bacon from here so there was no chance the others were still asleep.

"Morning, honey!"

It turned out he was only half right: Mammon, Bel and Lussuria were all awake, the Sun helping Florrie with the cooking, but Xanxus was nowhere to be seen.

"There's fruit juice in the fridge; orange or pineapple," the Cloud said distractedly, tipping several slices of bacon onto a plate already piled high.

"Toast, Squ?" Luss asked, smiling over the bread knife.

"Voi, please." He was ravenous –he hadn't eaten any dinner in the end– and the smell of cooking meat was making his stomach attempt to devour itself.

Florrie chose this moment to move the plate piled high with bacon onto the table; there was a rush to steal as much as possible. Squalo got away with four slices on his way to getting the juice out of the fridge; not many compared to Bel's eight or Mammon's six, but standing up meant he could see the other two sealed packets of raw bacon still on the worktop; there'd be more bacon later and he wanted sausages as well. Luss handed him some toast –oh he was using the oven rather than the little toaster on the worktop; that made sense– put the rest on a plate and set that on the middle of the table next to the butter and condiments, moving the now empty bacon plate out of the way.

Squalo set the juice on the table, grabbed the tomato ketchup, made himself two bacon sandwiches with his four slices of toast and sat down to enjoy them. A poached egg or two as well would be nice, but if Florrie wasn't offering he wasn't going to ask; he could always do them himself later, when the stovetop was a bit less crowded.

Five minutes later Florrie set down the plate of sausages –a dozen of them– and instantly helped herself to three; Mammon took two and Bel ignored them, as he usually did. Sausages were 'peasant food' apparently; not that Squalo cared, it meant there were more for the rest of them. He took four, leaving three for Luss; there was another pack up on the counter, so the Sun could have more in a bit if he felt hard-done-by.

Really, the only unusual thing about this was that Xanxus was sleeping through it.

* * *

"Good morning cousin, how goes it?"

"Better," Squalo admitted, settling down on the windowsill of the upstairs landing behind a basic Rain-veil and idly admiring the painted crows swooping overhead. "Xanxus is actually sleeping now –sleeping as we speak in fact– so I think we're past the worst." He did not mention Florrie; he wasn't going to do that until she okayed it.

"Good to hear," Pantera said warmly. "I have rather alarming news you will enjoy greatly: the CEDEF shell company has been declared officially insolvent and ceased operating; the Vongola has had to step in to provide redundancy payments to Alliance members in its employ and one of Nono Vongola's personal 'businesses' is ensuring those close to retirement age can get their pensions early by fronting the rest of the money. Iemitsu Sawada will continue as External Advisor, but he will have to either live off his savings or find another paid job to fund his investigations, since the Vongola is not permitted to support the External Advisor due to conflicts of interest."

Squalo knew he was grinning insanely and didn't care; he was positive Mammon had a hand in this somehow and it was wonderful. "Voi, how did Sawada manage to squander nearly two centuries of investments?"

"What we'd all like to know," the cat agreed, his tone betraying that he was _exceedingly_ interested in the answers. "It would appear there has been considerable mismanagement in recent years, with long-term investments liquidated prematurely –and at a loss– into slush funds to make up short-term cash flow deficits and fund employment drives –I had no idea the CEDEF went through low-level employees so quickly, it's shocking– and a large amount of capital was transferred into various Alliance hands following the assault on the Iron Fort three years back, to provide independences for the relatives of those murdered by the External Advisor and his subordinates and to mollify their dons."

Well that made sense; both the fiscal irresponsibility and Sawada having essentially bribed his way out of trouble after shooting his way into the Iron Fort on the flimsiest of pretexts when Xanxus sent him off on a wild goose chase during the Ring Battles. Sawada didn't get executed as he rightfully should have been back then, but it had at least made it impossible for the man to speak out publically against the Varia for over a year afterwards.

"It turns out the CEDEF has also been paying for all the damages caused during young Tsunayoshi's training, rather than it coming out of the External Advisor's personal funds as his father or Don Vongola's pocket as Reborn's patron," Pantera continued, "which strikes me as deeply suspect when Reborn is not a CEDEF employee and was also being paid the standard daily rate for a hitman of his calibre from their coffers."

Squalo was not entirely sure if this was a real thing or had been arranged and convincingly back-dated by Mammon, but either way it was _really_ going to set the cat among the pigeons. "So Reborn has been ripping off the CEDEF for the better part of five years and amassing a large personal fortune, at the expense of our external intelligence agency?" He clarified.

"So it would seem," his cousin agreed mildly. "Certain parties would _very_ much like to know where that money has gone, but Reborn is claiming he has no knowledge of the account the CEDEF money was being paid into, which given the state of his mind is entirely possible; mental Mist-editing means he could very well have an offshore account he's completely forgotten about that he gave the details of to the CEDEF while working for them back in the sixties before being Cursed, which was then re-activated when he was hired as Sawada's son's tutor since it was already on file." Hitmen frequently had multiple offshore accounts, to ensure nobody could track them by their bank transactions; Reborn having 'lost' one in the process of having his memories edited was not at all surprising.

"How very unfortunate," Squalo said dryly. "Trident Shamal can't do anything about that, I take it?"

"Don Vongola is having him tracked down so it can be investigated," Pantera agreed, "but the prognosis is not good, especially considering that Reborn has physically changed a great deal since then and those parts of his brain where the memories were stored have probably been repurposed and overwritten during his various growth spurts. Especially since he is now very clearly experiencing puberty; there's a lot of neural change taking place during childhood and puberty."

So Reborn was vanishingly unlikely to be able to retrieve the information. Tragic.

"So this is more a result of carelessness, lack of qualified oversight and poor banking practice than outright fraud," Squalo deduced, "probably committed by Iemitsu himself, who would have noticed that Reborn was already listed in the CEDEF files as a contractor and renewed the existing rate without ever questioning it."

"So it would appear," the cat confirmed. "He is rather in the doghouse with Don Vongola as a result, seeing as Nono was already providing Reborn with a modest monthly stipend. Terribly bad for business, this kind of thing."

"Voi, he tanked his own company over unnecessary expenses unlikely to ever be retrieved," Squalo pointed out; "I'd say that's karmic as well as proof he should never have been put in charge in the first place."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"VOOOII! He's self-righteous narcissistic scum who treats my Sky like a dog he wants an excuse to put down!" Squalo snarled. "Chew Toy's spineless short-sighted trash but nobody deserves a father like _that_." He wouldn't even wish Sawada senior on his worst enemy, which Chew Toy wasn't.

"Fair enough, cousin. Have you called your little sister recently?"

"On Christmas day," Squalo admitted cautiously, not entirely sure what this new tangent was about.

"Did she not mention the content of her recent research to you?"

"No," Squalo drawled carefully. She _had_ mentioned research, but he'd assumed it was for a school project since she was in her penultimate year of schooling now; not yet sixteen Delfina may have been, but she was in classes two years ahead of her peers.

"You should definitely ask about it next time you talk to her; it's very interesting."

Shitty cat was teasing him; Squalo knew it. Well, hopefully it would turn out to be the Vongola bloodline research he'd dropped hints about over a year back; Delfina had certainly had the time and access to dig rather deeply into that, aided by people consistently underestimating her due to her psychosomatic deafness. Well, 'psychosomatic' wasn't quite the right term for it, but the problem was in the neural layout of her brain rather than anything to do with the structure of her ears and could only be overcome with Mist-tricks. His sister knew how, but largely preferred not to; she found the majority of humanity too noisy and annoying to bother with and being deaf was a convenient excuse to avoid doing so. Plus she was passing herself off as a Cloud, which also assisted her in avoiding idiots.

"Voi, I will then."

"You do that," kitty-cat drawled playfully. "Have the presents arrived yet?"

"Our supply chain's still working through a few kinks," Squalo demurred, "and horse only shipped things on St Stephen's. I doubt anything will arrive until after New Year; probably not until after Epiphany."

"I shall contain my disappointment at the delay then," Pantera said easily. "Do give Coguaro my best and ask him to call me when he's feeling better."

"I will do."

"Wonderful; goodbye then cousin."

"Bye." Squalo hung up, then leaned back against the window frame and hummed idly. He'd wondered where Mammon had got all that money for their black book; it seemed they'd taken the time to exercise their vendetta against Iemitsu as well as impoverish Don Vongola directly.

The amusing part was, the offshore account probably _was_ an old one belonging to Reborn's pre-Arcobaleno identity which Mammon had known about already –and been aware that its nominal owner had entirely forgotten its existence– and had likely even been officially granted access to it as a financial adviser, back before they'd all been Cursed. Oh the irony.

He really needed to do something nice for the miser; oh, and share the details of the fallout with everybody else. Even Bel would enjoy _this_.

* * *

Xanxus drifted slowly into wakefulness, warmth and the comforting embrace of familiar Flames cocooning him. The uneven murmur of voices a few rooms away sharpened into words –the shark clearly audible even if the others weren't– as the smell of spices and baked ham filled his nostrils.

His stomach picked this moment to rumble ominously; rolling over to look at the clock, Xanxus blinked in surprise; it was one in the afternoon? He'd slept… well, roughly twenty-four hours, bar that late-night bathroom break. He vaguely remembered getting into the taxi at the airport, but everything after that was either fuzzy or very definitely a dream.

Setting jumbled recollections of Florrie in the Iron Fort's catacombs aside, Xanxus climbed out of bed and headed out of the room; the conversation in the main room came into focus the moment he opened the door:

"–want to eat it that's fine; more for the rest of us. But I'm not cooking anything else and you'll have to use what's stocked in the other kitchen to make yourself a meal."

A put-upon huff. "The prince will eat your leftover pie then, peasant, but under protest."

Xanxus walked along the hallway, taking in the holly sprigs perched on top of the picture frames and smiling up at the little angel tree decorations hanging from the lampshade overhead. He'd helped her put things up last year, but this time she'd done it all herself. Unless she'd got Chickie and Alfie to come over and assist before visiting their grandma, which was entirely possible; he'd not really had many opportunities to talk to her lately.

"Turkey and ham pie?" he asked hopefully, leaning around the door at the other end of the short hallway. She'd made that after Christmas last year and it had tasted _fantastic_.

"Yes, with parsnips and pigs-in-blankets and chestnuts and stuffing balls along with the usual leeks, since we couldn't leave anything behind at Grandma's. My parents let me have the bulk of the Christmas leftovers since I was coming home immediately and they weren't," Florrie agreed, smiling at him. "Want a drink?"

His stomach growled again. "Nibbles?" he asked, grinning a little sheepishly at the racket his body was making.

"That's probably a good idea if I want you to survive until dinnertime," his Cloud agreed playfully, ducking down and producing a bag of nuts from a cupboard. "Here, catch."

Xanxus caught the bag –salted and peppered cashews– and ripped it open, tipping a few into his mouth as he wandered closer to sit down at the table. Bel had retreated back to the sofa to sulk, Luss was stirring a pan of mulled wine on the stove, Mammon was kneeling down at the coffee table staring at their laptop –probably checking the stock market– and Squalo was getting glasses out of a high cupboard as Florrie chopped carrots.

"Mulled wine, Xanxus?"

He nodded, finished chewing, swallowed and managed a quiet "Thanks," as his Sun slid the full tumbler down the table. There'd be no alcohol worth speaking of, but it tasted good and was just on the pleasant side of hot.

Florrie tipped the sliced carrots into a pan of simmering water, put the lid on then bent down and pulled two packets of crisps out of the cupboard the nuts had come from. "Squalo, could you get me down a serving bowl for these? Since dinner won't be for half an hour yet and I'm sure everyone could manage a little something."

Squalo stuck his head back in the top cupboard and got down a wide and sturdy white bowl as Luss finished serving everybody else mulled wine, then tipped what was left in the pan into the glass jug Xanxus had given Florrie last Christmas. Bel abandoned the sofa and slouched into a chair at the table in order to snatch a handful of crisps and his mulled wine, making a small, grudgingly appreciative noise as Florrie passed him a small porcelain bowl to serve himself into. The Storm did not however return to the sofa, instead picking a mandarin out of the fruit bowl and peeling it fastidiously.

Mammon closed their laptop and drifted over, sitting cross-legged on the top of the kitchen stool and floating his drink and snacks over from the table as Luss settled on one of the other chairs and Squalo left the fourth one empty for Florrie to sit in, leaning against the fridge instead with his wine and one of the crisp packets which clearly had not been emptied entirely on the worktop beside him.

Xanxus took a few crisps, sat back in his chair and basked in having all his Guardians together, eating and more-or-less getting along. This was home.

* * *

By New Year's Day Xanxus was no longer sleeping for over fourteen hours a day, so he got to spend more time around Florrie when actually conscious rather than falling into bed next to her and either waking up early the following afternoon or waking up for breakfast, then taking a nap until the early evening. On the plus side, this meant more time around her to do things in and the possibility of going out together; on the minus side, it meant the rest of his Guardians all getting back at him for the previous week's sleeplessness. Because, as was abundantly clear, he could have just called Florrie and said he had to come over earlier –which she would probably have been fine with despite not being in the house at the time– and then either crashed in her bed or borrowed her spare sheets to stick on one of the upstairs beds.

The realisation that they'd all suffered needlessly because he was –as Squalo had put it– a 'prideful overly independent moron martyring himself over nothing' was something they were all giving him shit for, which wasn't great. It was made worse by Florrie being so upset that he'd been suffering and not said anything, as well as his being very reluctant to throw his Cloud's things at the rest of the assholes in her house.

Which of course said assholes were taking shameless advantage of.

"The next time something like this happens, the prince is calling the advisor immediately," Bel said snootily from where he was sprawled on the carpet.

"Vooi, we probably should have expected him to be a little slow," the shark drawled from the armchair. "It _did_ take him four months to notice he was courting, after all."

Xanxus threw a cushion at his Rain's face; cushions didn't count as projectiles. Annoyingly the man caught it before it hit the book he was reading and let it drop to the ground. "Seriously though, not taking care of yourself is Dumb," the shitty shark continued, not looking up, "and refusing to seek care elsewhere because you don't want to inconvenience people is borderline Stupid."

Xanxus growled, turning over on the sofa to give the assholes his back. Okay, he could maybe recognise that _now_ , but he'd not exactly been in his right mind last week; chronic lack of sleep was a kind of temporary insanity.

"With your permission, honey, I'd like to stick it in your medical file that if anything like this _does_ happen again, whoever's with you is to get in touch with your Cloud immediately and bring you here if possible," Luss said, leaning over the sofa to make eye contact. "This is your Territory as much as hers and I've never seen you as settled anywhere as you are here."

Xanxus could, grumpily and reluctantly, recognise that it was a good safety measure. That didn't mean he had to _like_ it. "Florrie's house," he grumbled, closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at his Sun's sharp, determined smile.

"Then I'll only put it in if she says yes," Luss decided, moving away. Florrie was currently hanging out her laundry –the usual chores didn't stop just because she had guests– and Xanxus tracked his annoying Sun's Flames as they left the flat, crossed the hall and into the other kitchen, then through the door into the laundry room where his Cloud was.

Florrie would say yes; she cared about him and he was as much a part of her Territory as her home was. No matter how much other guests tired her out or made her short-tempered, he never registered to her as an interloper. His other four Guardians _did_ , so they were all keeping a weather eye on their hostess's Flames and general behaviour as an indicator of when to make themselves scarce.

Luss had taken Bel out to some nearby sales on the thirtieth –in the hire car the shark had fetched that morning– Squalo had walked out somewhere and Mammon had quietly settled elsewhere in the building for the day to give Florrie space, which she'd taken advantage of by playing music, reading, sewing and exploring the internet from her laptop. In complete silence, from the moment they all left before nine to when they got back after eight in the evening, having all warned they'd be out for lunch and having sent texts well in advance that they'd miss dinner too.

Xanxus had napped intermittently on the sofa, waking up each time to nibbles laid within arm's reach and hot drinks. It was a very feline kind of company, but he liked it; it was undemanding and restful. She was there, he was there and they were each doing their own thing together.

It had been much more comfortable than being sniped at by his Storm and Rain was.

"Maybe we should just leave him here," Bel continued, "it's not like he's doing anything useful at the moment."

Xanxus restrained the urge to launch the Storm through the window; it wasn't his window.

"Everyone's going to get bored of the funfair and stalking Colonnello in the next few weeks," the shark pointed out dryly. "You want to keep them in line and deal with complaints?"

"On second thought, we probably should take our Sky back with us when we leave," Bel conceded without missing a beat. "Can't we drag Patience along too?"

Squalo snorted. "She'd complain to Tyrant and Boss wouldn't save you."

"Ah. Point." A delicate shiver ran through his Storm's Flames; Bel had fallen foul of Tyrant a time or two in Xanxus's Ice-induced absence and had a healthy respect for what the much older Sky was capable of. "Well, we'll just have to arrange regular visits. Or ship him over in a box whenever he gets tiresome; that would be much less hassle."

Maybe if he pretended to nap they'd stop? Or he could actually nap; that way he wouldn't have to listen to their bitching at all.

Grabbing another cushion and wrapping it around the back of his head to muffle the verbal sniping, Xanxus closed his eyes, sprawled more comfortably on the sofa, slowed his breathing and let himself sink into a doze. He wasn't going to let them ruin his holiday over a few poor decisions made while sleep deprived.

* * *

Xanxus finished packing his clothes into his suitcase and glanced over at the sturdy plastic bag that contained his Christmas present from his Cloud: Florrie had, in a moment of deeply dubious humour, bought him a rug for the floor of his new Mafia Land apartment. Which sounded completely innocuous; this rug however was shaped exactly like a leopard skin, complete with slightly cartoonish flattened face and made of hooked wool on a cotton base. As a result it could easily be Flame-proofed, but it was still the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen.

He loved it. It was a metre and a half long from head to tail-tip and almost a metre across from paw to paw. He'd never use a _real_ leopard skin as a rug, but this cheerful facsimile poked fun at the whole idea of the 'manly hunter displaying his kills' thing that some trash were so obsessed with and that was hilarious. He was tempted to see if he could get a tiger one made.

Florrie had given the shark a pair of London Underground posters; the first one was just arty, all autumnal colours and shapes depicting a view across a lake in classic thirties style, but the second one made the Rain almost laugh himself sick: it was of one of the tiled 'WAY OUT' signs at Euston Underground station with a little arrow under the words, enclosed in a green arch on a blue ground. Squalo had instantly vowed to get it framed and put up somewhere prominent in the Mafia Land building. Possibly just to one side of his office door.

Bel got a bone china mug with Saint-Exupéry's _Le Petit Prince_ on it, which he had accepted with a pleased smile and drank out of exclusively for rest of the week. Luss got a little succulent in a pot and a pack of ladies' socks with the different pairs decorated with baby penguins, Dalmatians and umbrellas on pink and purple backgrounds, which the Sun of course _loved_. Mammon got a commemorative five-pound coin with Queen Elizabeth I on it, complete with a presentation folder, which was much appreciated by the miser since it was a collector's item and would only increase in value over time.

They had given her their gifts as well of course, along with the selection from other former Varia; fewer than she'd got for her birthday, since the planned move had distracted a lot of people from doing Christmas seriously this year. Bel's birthday had also been swallowed whole by the move; he'd got presents and cake but there hadn't really been space to do anything special, seeing as they'd been travelling to Mafia Land, jetlagged and then Xanxus's night terrors had taken centre stage.

Luss had the bag of gifts –and thank-you cards– to be handed over once they were back on the floating island, so Xanxus had nothing else to do except lock his case and sit down with his Cloud for another hour until Szökő arrived to move them all to Mafia Land in stages. They'd done the flight on the way in; like fuck they were spending twenty hours or more travelling back. No; they'd check out of the country on a ferry, then get 'transported' elsewhere before it reached its destination.

The doorbell rang; slightly curious as to who it might be, Xanxus wandered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to investigate.

"Dad! Why didn't you call to say you were coming over?"

What was his friend's father doing, visiting her at three o'clock on a Monday afternoon? Shouldn't he be at work?

"It's happened, sweetheart."

Happened? What had –oh. The probable event hit him just as out on the front step Florrie burst into tears. Xanxus leaned cautiously into the open doorway of the flat and saw that his Cloud had her face buried in her father's shoulder and he was hugging her tightly.

"She passed away just after lunch," the man continued, voice gentle but steady as he steered them into the house and closed the door behind them, "but Mum said it was obvious this morning that it was her last day. She'll be coming home in a few days, after things have been sorted out with the coroner's office; your aunties will be staying on to deal with the will and such, and will let us know when the funeral's been arranged."

Florrie continued to wail loudly, banging her forehead against her father's chest as she sagged in his arms. Xanxus retreated back to the bedroom and stared at his suitcase. Well, he couldn't just _leave_ now, not when she needed him; he should phone Sumu and tell her to call things off. He quickly fluctuated his Flames in a deliberate pattern to make sure the Guardians packing away upstairs didn't come back down until he gave them the go-ahead; his Cloud deserved what limited privacy he could give her.

Actually he should call Mafia Land to _delay_ things for a few hours; then, once Florrie was a little more coherent, ask her whether she was okay with him and maybe one or two of the others staying on to look after her. Because while he'd like to be able to say he could take care of his Cloud by himself, Xanxus knew that right now that was a lie. He could barely keep himself in good order at the moment; daily showers, regular meals and getting to bed on time were effort enough and he'd been woefully useless on the chores front this visit.

Bel and Mammon wouldn't want to stay, but if Florrie was okay with either Luss or the shark staying on –or possibly both– then between them they'd be able to make sure she was properly looked-after.

The wound in his Cloud's Flames left by the loss of her grandmother _hurt_. It also reminded him of getting told that Ottava was dead, shortly after being defrosted, which was painful in itself. That… he'd not really dealt with it at the time. Or even when the bequests came through in October; there'd been too much else that needed seeing to more urgently.

Xanxus opened his case, pulled out Stripes and carried him back to the main room of the flat, setting the stuffed tiger prominently on the sofa. Then he put the kettle on; hot drinks always helped.

He then promptly took the kettle _off_ the hob, poured some milk into a small saucepan and fished the jar of chocolate powder out of the bottom cupboard; this was probably more of a hot chocolate moment than a tea moment and he knew there were little marshmallows around here somewhere.

It was an agonisingly helpless feeling, hearing somebody cry their heart out and knowing there was nothing you could do about their pain.

All you could do was help them pick up the pieces, so they could put themselves back together and build anew afterwards.


	6. Chapter 6

Updating again, from today until Wednesday! Enjoy the chapters!

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

It was six weeks now since the mass retirement and move to Mafia Land, so various ex-Varia were starting to get a bit bored of the funfair. Maínomai wasn't quite bored exactly –going on the rides was still fun and so was talking to people around the shops and stalls in the commercial district– but he was starting to get a bit restless, which meant it was a good time to start thinking about what exactly he wanted to do with himself for the rest of his life, since there would hopefully be a lot of life left and he didn't want to just drift aimlessly and use up his savings.

With this in mind, he'd asked around a few fellow retirees, to see what they were planning. It turned out to be a mixed bag: some people hadn't planned anything, others had a vague idea, some were already asking around and a few knew exactly because they'd set things up even before retiring in the first place. The latter category included most of Medical, who were setting up an organ transplant clinic to make use of the new data they'd got from fixing up Kalk.

There'd probably be a good number of disclaimers on the paperwork to begin with, but the science looked solid so it shouldn't be too long before the process was streamlined. Of course that wouldn't be _all_ the clinic was offering –Medical were more versatile than that– but it was bound to be the primary source of income. Organ transplants were much in demand –people loving their vices more than their bodies– and being able to guarantee that the patient would need no immunosuppressants thereafter without complications would get everybody's attention.

Eventually Maínomai settled on 'Acquisitions,' which was locating rare or specialist items so that a client could buy –or steal– them. There was generally a discretionary fund set up as part of the contract so that the 'representative' could buy the item if it was in budget –or steal it if not– along with all reasonable expenses paid and good travel opportunities. Mafia Land had its own Acquisitions Interchange, so all he had to do was sign up! It would let him put both his research skills and his mild kleptomania to use!

The thing was, while there were multiple handlers at the Interchange currently open to taking on representatives to do the legwork for them, none of them had quite sat right with him. He'd had a feeling they'd sit even less well with Pýř, so Maínomai hadn't signed up with _any_ of them; they'd all been trying to take advantage one way or the other and that wasn't right. Just because he was friendly and a bit scattered didn't mean he was Dumb; those contracts had been unfair and they all _knew_ it! That was why they hadn't let him take the paperwork home with him to 'check over' before signing!

Of course he hadn't signed anything at all; not that they'd noticed. Careless of them when he'd outright _said_ he was a Mist and everybody knew the former Varia were living on Mafia Land now.

That said, they'd thought they could con him _despite_ his having implied he was Varia, which said they were Stupid. Which was very disappointing indeed; he'd have to find some other way to achieve his new career.

Actually, talking to Boss would be a good start; their Sky _had_ said he'd be happy to support them in realistic business endeavours.

* * *

Maínomai found Boss –and he was still Boss because they'd all sworn personal oaths to him in order to join him here– sprawled on a massive couch in the lounge, which was in the Territory accessible through what had previously been the third ground-floor flat but was now three libraries, a network of small dining rooms, six private studies/offices and four common rooms kitted out in a range of styles. The one Boss regularly camped out in got called ' _the_ lounge' because it had three sofas, two chaise-lounge and four very nice armchairs, two coffee tables, several bookshelves and no television. It was therefore a room for lounging in, hence 'the lounge.'

Boss had claimed the largest couch and any day he wasn't sprawled on it reading or idly scribbling in a notebook or sketchpad, Bester or Optima would be occupying it, so everybody else had given up trying to sit on it about a month back. Today the Sky was flopped on his front, head on a cushion and idly petting Bester, who was lying on the floor next to the couch and rumbling lazily as his owner rubbed behind his ears. Boss's jacket, complete with the new Cavallone patches, was tossed over the back of the frame.

"Er, got a moment, Boss?"

Red eyes briefly flicked his way. "Hm?"

Well, that was _much_ better than being outright ignored or having something pitched at his head, so Maínomai plonked himself in the nearest armchair and tried to get his thoughts in order. "I thought I could check out the Acquisitions Interchange this morning, since I'm kind of interested in doing that as it looked interesting and challenging, but the only handlers open for taking on additional people were, well, kind of predatory; probably why they've got slots open, to be honest. I made appointments with all five and they _all_ thought they could con me into signing a blatantly unfair contract; _after_ I insinuated I was retired Varia, even! I mean if I want to do this I probably _should_ sign up with one of them, if only to make a name for myself and maybe get noticed by somebody better, but I'm kinda indecisive over which was the least terrible one."

"Names?" Boss asked, tone idle but Flames carrying an undercurrent of sharp-edged interest. Their Sky was protective of them, even though he didn't show it much. Which was fair enough when they could all take care of themselves perfectly fine, being Quality and all.

"Charles LeVine, Ryan Castille, Zhao Yimou –well Yimou Zhao if I'm keeping the format consistent– Herr Ziffer –who is definitely a Fleming fan– and Belle-Dame," Maínomai said promptly.

"LeVine, Castille, Ziffer; fuck, ally with or kill?"

"What –oh you mean which would I– hm," Maínomai mumbled absently, mind flicking back to the various meetings, the tells he'd observed and the stray thoughts he'd picked up on. "Fuck Castille; he's the kind of man to talk in bed and it'd give me insight into how the Interchange works and who his more principled colleagues are. Plus he checked me out. Ally with Ziffer, but only after writing a comprehensive Mist-contract and making him sign every single line; he's the 'if you can't tell I'm having you on you deserve to be fleeced' sort, but he'd respect a cunning rival. Kill LeVine; he's a sleazy bottom-feeder."

"Castille, Zhao, Belle-Dame; again."

This was harder. "Fuck Zhao," Maínomai said after a pause, "because he'd go with it to try and use it against me but I could turn the tables on him and make use of the leverage. Ally with Belle-Dame, because any woman who makes it to the middle of the heap on Mafia Land in a business setting is _definitely_ somebody I want on my side. But again, with a written Mist-contract to make sure she doesn't try to advance over my bleeding corpse, because that would be awkward. Kill Castille, because pretty as he is, he took me far less seriously than Zhao did."

Boss hummed appreciatively. "Ziffer, Zhao or Belle-Dame."

Ah, having to compare like this made deciding _much_ easier; he'd have to remember the exercise, it was really helpful! "Kill Ziffer; fuck Zhao again, because he's more likely to be philosophical about me casually outmanoeuvring him," Maínomai decided. "Ally with Belle-Dame, again, because now I think back she was the only one who was even slightly suspicious of me to begin with. She lost track of it about ten minutes in, but probably remembered again after I left." Which meant she'd probably also checked the contract and discovered his lack of signature.

The Sky shrugged, moving his hand to scratch Bester under the chin. "There you go then." He glanced the Mist's way again, eyes playful. "Get a feel for the system and set up on your own once you've made a name."

That was a fun idea; he'd float it past his partner to see what he thought of it. "Thanks Boss!"

* * *

Squalo had just pulled his sheets off the bed and bundled them up into the communal laundry basket in the service cupboard on his floor when it struck him that the only reason it had taken him so long to get around to changing them was that he hadn't had sex on them. Which, considering this was the _first_ time he'd changed them since getting back from visiting Florrie, said he'd not taken Xanxus to bed in… over eight weeks. More like ten weeks actually, since the last two weeks before the Solstice Ball had been hectic and exhausting and they'd been operating on different schedules to make sure somebody was supervising everything, so they'd done a lot of sleeping in the same bed but no fucking.

 _Ten weeks_ since they'd last had sex and he'd not noticed. Well over a month since they'd got back from visiting Florrie and his Sky had settled onto a reasonably even keel and got into a rhythm of sleeping properly, despite still mourning and being visibly depressed, and not _once_ had Squalo thought that sex might work to cheer Xanxus up for a bit.

Come to think of it, he wasn't all that bothered about having missed out. Which said the 'with benefits' part of their friendship was probably long dead and he should give it a proper funeral before it started to putrefy.

Getting out fresh sheets from his wardrobe and folding one around the mattress, Squalo pondered the best approach. Given his Sky was in a low-effort state right now, his best bet was probably to just point it out, check his Sky was fine with it –make sure to mention that _he_ was fine with it too– and just let it go. It had always been a short-term casual thing, so it having ended wasn't so surprising really. It had mostly been stress relief and now his Sky was free from his primary source of stress. Plus, well… honestly, expecting sex from Xanxus right now felt skeevy. The guy was having enough trouble digging up the energy to do basic things like shower, eat regular meals, dote on the big cats and potter around his workshop a bit.

Besides, the whole _point_ of the sex had been that it was _casual_. As in, 'could stop anytime, no strings.' Which it had done, so retroactively adding strings was just shitty behaviour and Squalo refused to be that person. Yeah, it had been fun, but so were lots of other things.

His mind made up, Squalo shook out the top sheet, put the pillows back and went looking for his Sky.

* * *

Xanxus sprawled on the properly-sized sofa in one of the ground floor common rooms, a stack of borrowed historical texts by his elbow and a notepad on his lap. Being halfway across the world made continuing his degree much more challenging, but all the newer papers were available for free through the university library's website that he had student passwords for and one of his Cavallone cousins also in university was willing to use his student card to borrow books on his behalf back in Sicily. Those books got transferred to Mafia Land via Mist-box and then Xanxus could renew them online until he sent them back and they dropped off his online record.

He was currently writing a paper on the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller, comparing their respective rise to power and influence, military might and the differences between them that may have led to one being dissolved a mere two hundred years later while the other lasted over a thousand years and still existed to this day.

It was interesting, both the reading and the cross-referencing, although he couldn't do much at a time before his mind started wandering and he had to take a break. That was annoying –usually he could work for hours on end on a project that caught his fancy– but Xanxus had to grudgingly admit that he wasn't well right now, so he had to go easy on himself.

It was still annoying. However progress was progress and he wasn't incoherent from lack of sleep anymore, which he had been less than two months previously.

A familiar Flame-presence walked into the room. "Hey Xanxus."

Xanxus glanced up from his reading. "Shark."

"Just realised we haven't had sex since December tenth," his Rain said casually.

Surely it hadn't been _that_ long? Wait, it had; the two weeks before the solstice had been hectic and exhausting, then he'd been nightmare-ridden for a week, they'd gone to Florrie's for ten days and that got them up to last month. How had he not noticed sooner?

"I'm not complaining –I didn't even notice and that says it all really– but I thought I should mention it," the shark continued, wandering up the nearest bookshelf and perusing the selection on offer, "so you could decide how you felt about it."

How _did_ he feel about it? Kind of meh, to be honest. Everything was kind of meh right now. Which yes was a function of the depression, but it said a hell of a lot that he could have been having hot sex with Squalo all last month and he wasn't even into the _idea_ of it.

"Feel kind of flat," he admitted.

"Voi, I felt like it had come to the end of its natural," Squalo said, pulling out a book. "For now at least; who knows where we'll be this time next year. But no strings; we won't know until we get there. Who knows, we both might have met other people."

That felt remote and unlikely right now, but again that was a depression thing. "We good, shark?"

His Rain settled on one of the armchairs and opened the book. "Yeah, we're good."

Well that was something.

* * *

It was two months after the solstice when Springer finally called; Squalo had expected it to take a while. Brat had probably felt abandoned and betrayed to begin with, then after the talk with Pantera had shifted to feeling conflicted. Cat had already told him his side of that pre-Christmas conversation, so Squalo knew Springer knew he had unequivocal Superbi backing and could visit any time he liked, as well as conformation that he could call Squalo anytime and visit him as well.

Visit _where_ hadn't been specified, but all his apprentice had to do was ask.

"Hello, sempai."

"Hi there brat," Squalo said easily in Italian. "This a private call or you got an audience?" Springer was the most accessible person to Don Vongola with a connection to the ex-Varia, so it was very likely that there'd been pressure from that quarter. Possibly from Chew Toy as well, but that was less likely; Chew Toy might assume they'd left because they wanted to get away from _him_ or else just decide –accurately– that the caps had been genuinely untenable and this was the only way they could protest.

"Kalk is keeping it private." So Rokudo was probably eavesdropping, but nobody else even though it sounded like brat's phone was on speaker mode. "Why, sempai?"

"Which why in particular?" Squalo asked reasonably. Some of the 'whys' were self-evident, or should be if Springer was using his brain and not wallowing in self-righteous hurt.

"Why leave your family and community and the job you put your life into?"

That was a Dumb question. "Why did _you_ , brat?"

There was a huff and a sigh; oh good, he'd noticed the similarities. "Why did _Xanxus_ leave, then?"

"Because Nono Vongola would never have given him any peace if he hadn't."

Another pause. "Sempai, who was the woman with you when you were watching the _Tour de France_ in Pau with Xanxus?"

Oh, so somebody had dug that up, had they? Visconti probably; he had connections. The CEDEF was dead and gone and Iemitsu was finding that his network wasn't so useful now he didn't have any money to ply them with. "That's Patience," he said amiably. "She's Housekeeping." Technically still true; she kept –and lived in– a house that Xanxus owned.

"Are she and Xanxus dating?"

Squalo chuckled. "Voi, no; Xanxus isn't dating anybody." Wasn't even having sex with anybody either.

"They looked very... friendly." Oh yes, Japanese people were a bit uptight about men hugging women like that; Squalo had forgotten. Italians were much more indifferent to the gender of close friends in that sense.

"They're friends," Squalo said, deliberately misinterpreting. "She's not afraid of him and he likes that she doesn't judge him. S'been good for him, having friends."

Another brief pause. "He has been much calmer recently," Springer agreed slowly, almost audibly going back over the past year-and-change's interactions with the formerly Varia Sky in light of the new information.

"As I said, she's been good for him," Squalo repeated briskly. "You been keeping up the endurance training?"

"Yes, sempai," his apprentice assured him, tone mild with a prickly undercurrent. "I've been running around the Iron Fort's grounds every morning before breakfast; Ryōhei does it with me."

"Nono's still keeping you all at the Iron Fort then?" Solstice had been two months ago.

"First he had questions about what we'd seen of you, Xanxus and the other Officers," Springer said evenly, "then he wanted Tsuna to assure people that Xanxus would be brought back to reinstate the Varia, which Tsuna refused to because it wouldn't be true. Then he insisted on Tsuna being involved in talking to the other Dons about the issues created by both the Varia and the CEDEF no longer existing, and then there were meetings with the Head of Finance and those got very loud."

"This morning the Head of Finance accused Don Vongola of squandering the Alliance's capital and endangering their investments," Rokudo's voice said clearly, tone gleeful. "He also predicted a drastic loss of income in the upcoming quarter, both from the lack of international business but also from local investors withholding their business due to the Alliance's situation looking very precarious. After all, the Vongola now lacks both its investigative branch and its enforcers."

"Iemitsu fucked up the CEDEF all by himself," Squalo lied blandly; Mammon had indeed had a hand there, but they had made it clear that if the External Advisor had paid even the slightest attention to his company's financial forecasts he could have saved the business. And no, Mammon had _not_ arranged those payments to the untraceable offshore account in Reborn's name; Iemitsu had done that all by himself. Mammon had simply appropriated the funds and moved them to more productive investments. Oh, and taken further advantage of Iemitsu's _blatant_ ignorance of all things financial to siphon off additional money in much more subtle and plausible ways. The CEDEF being in a newer building meant that upkeep costs were small –mostly on cleaning supplies– but their employee turnover was terrible and there were so many ways to sneak money out through short-term non-existent employees that nobody would ever remember or question the existence of.

"Tsunayoshi's father is destroying the legacy he wanted his son to inherit," Rokudo agreed maliciously. "It makes you wonder why he ever involved our Sky in the Vongola at all." Now that was interesting phrasing from Rokudo, considering how anti-mafia he was. Had Kalk somehow inspired a change in perspective?

"Sempai?" Springer asked, tension clear in his tone, "are adults always this… disappointing?"

Oh poor brat; not even eighteen yet and already completely disillusioned. "Voi, _all_ adults are making it up as they go along," Squalo said mercilessly; "some of us are just better at it than others and actually consider the facts before making a decision."

"Why can't they see how, how _Stupid_ they're all being?"

"Their egos are getting in the way," the older Rain said wickedly, grinning to himself at the audible homicidal urges Springer was not suppressing very well. "They're so used to being told they're so clever that they think it's the truth rather than recognising it as flattery and obsequiousness, so they jump to conclusions and don't consider the evidence. There's a reason Varia Quality's rare and it's not that people lack the potential; it's that most don't want to put the effort in."

A deliberate breath from the other end of the line, then Springer changed the subject. "I spent Epiphany with your family," he said with determined lightness.

"I heard," Squalo admitted; Grandpa had mentioned it when he called last month, all pleased and complaining that Squalo hadn't brought the brat over sooner. Next Grandpa would want him to bring Mahi along and ambush them both with something annoying.

"Delfina made Kalk feel very welcome," his apprentice continued, tone deliberately blithe, "and they swapped phone numbers; I think they must text each-other twenty times a day or more. I know she missed her friends back in Namimori, so it's nice that she's making friends here too."

If his sister got dragged into Tenth-Generation shenanigans then Squalo was going to have _words_ with her. This had to be because he'd not told her he was leaving; she was getting back at him.

"She's cute too!"

The _fuck_. "I didn't get made Varia Head at fourteen because I was friendly and inclined towards giving people the benefit of the doubt, trash," Squalo said quietly. "I got made Varia Head because Tyrant looked me in the eye and liked what he saw. You've met Tyrant."

A nervous chuckle. "Sorry sempai."

Good. "You're nearly eighteen and in a position of power over the Alliance, even though it might not look or feel like it when there's all the elderly and increasingly senile trash mucking about," Squalo continued, tone still soft. "Take a good hard look at the Vongola's Laws about rape and statutory rape and some of the past cases; there's been the occasional Guardian executed for abuse of position before."

"Yes sempai."

Just so that was clear. On to more practical matters: "And for God's sake, make sure Rokudo listens in on Kalk getting Mist Etiquette explained by some of the Mists in Vongola Housekeeping, voi; he'll get killed damn soon otherwise. Those Rules exist for good reasons and the reasons are that society relies on everybody agreeing not to trample over other people's boundaries just because they feel like it; Mist-trash can damn well _act_ like he's a mature, sensible and civilised person even if it's not true."

"Ha ha ha, I'll pass it on," Springer agreed, chuckling again. "I'm practicing those Flame exercises you gave me."

"Good; I'll see about arranging a meeting somewhere in a few months so I can see how you're progressing."

"Thank you, sempai!"

"You're my apprentice, brat; of course I'm going to keep teaching you," Squalo said sharply.

"Yes sempai," brat agreed, although he clearly hadn't _really_ believed it until now. "See you soon!"

"Bye," Squalo replied, then hung up. Next up, calling his sister and finding out what the _hell_ she thought she was doing, sticking her head in the hornet's nest that was the Vongola right now.

* * *

As February ticked slowly towards a close, more of his people came by in ones and twos and Squads to talk about their ongoing employment plans. Xanxus listened, made vaguely encouraging noises and occasionally offered suggestions; most of them had a pretty clear idea how to accomplish their desired goals but a few were fuzzier on details. The shark had already set up a smuggling outfit that he nominally owned but was being run by Housekeeping –Khon and Tenaz specifically– and employing half-a-dozen Mist Apprentices, along with two of the nine mooks who'd come along for the ride.

He'd only had to sign off on four loans so far, one of which had been to old man Zavatteri; most everyone else had more than enough funds to set something up or invest in what their colleagues were doing. Kuchisake had gone into business with Bel and Varg setting up a new assassination agency –which a good number of others had already joined– Lethe and his fellow members of Information were simply continuing as before but from a new location –with the option of selling information directly to the public, should said information not violate the guidelines laid down to protect the Cavallone– and both enterprises were already turning a profit.

Luss's organ clinic wasn't turning a profit yet, but that was due to setup costs –Luss had 'sold' some of the older machines to the Ferri so had needed to buy new ones– and it was taking time for the news to trickle out. They did already have a few clients though, so profit shouldn't be too far away. They could charge as much as they liked for that, for all that 'half as much again' was the absolute _least_ his Sun was willing to contemplate unless the patient was a genuine child.

On the personal side several people were giving dating a go now that nobody had authority over anybody else, most notably Sumu and Alizeti whose relationship had taken a turn for the bafflingly romantic. They were happy though, so Xanxus was doing his best not to dwell on the oddity.

Of course with his people starting to get bored of Mafia Land's attractions, there were bound to be a few hiccups. So far Xanxus had had to deal with the aftermath of pranks –non-lethal thankfully– in public places, complaints about ex-Varia clearing out rigged fairground games, a rather… _enthusiastic_ response to last Tuesday's attempted invasion, a Marvel block party for Deadpool's birthday and, of course, Colonnello.

He'd seen quite a bit of Colonnello in the past three weeks in fact; Dark Horse were trolling him relentlessly for reasons best known to them. They'd not gone over the line yet, which was why Xanxus was letting it continue; the ex-Arcobaleno needed to get over himself and do something about the holes in his training regime that the Immortal Squad were taking advantage of.

Oh, and get some proper Flame-training so he didn't leak everywhere and could sense his way out of a wet paper bag.

* * *

"Xanxus! Your shitheads are taking pot-shots at my men again!"

Xanxus looked up from his essay draft at the faux five-year-old fuming on the far side of his official desk. "Not just your men," he noted amusedly; the former Arcobaleno had paintball marks on his headband –in two different colours– and another three on his shoulders and upper chest. And that was just the ones Xanxus could see. The splatter was less than it should have been though; had Dark Horse chilled or frozen the paintballs?

The diminutive blond seethed visibly. "The fuck haven't you made them stop yet!" Colonnello exploded, arms waving as he jumped up onto the chair in front of the desk. "They're destroying morale!"

Xanxus felt his face go flat at the assumption that he should help the miniature military man coddle his men's egos. "Not _my_ problem your men over-estimate their skills," he said sharply.

"I _know_ you people talk about 'Quality' as the benchmark and you pride yourselves on being the best in the world," the ex-Arcobaleno continued, tone and volume subsiding slightly, "but what am I supposed to tell my students? 'Oh yes, you'll be the best, bar these other guys who live on Mafia Land and can outclass you on a whim while drunk'? I'm trying to help my students _improve_ and your people aren't helping!"

"Could raise your training standards, trash," Xanxus drawled sardonically. Colonnello had been coasting for _years_ now, acting as though he didn't need to improve himself, and that was an attitude the Sky had never been able to stand. There was _always_ room for improvement. If not in your primary field, then in the other associated fields; a well-rounded skill-set improved your overall performance. Xanxus could list six things off the top of his head that the man in front of him could stand to work on and actually exerting control over his Flame reserves was at the top of the list.

The blond Rain snarled. "Fucking _impossible_ , the lot of you," he seethed, vaulting down from the chair and stomping out of the office like a pre-schooler throwing a tantrum. Yes, he did have more paint marks on his back; five of them in three colours.

Xanxus rolled his eyes, called Optima out and went back to his essay, enjoying the distant screech as his jaguar caught up with the uninvited interloper and chased him out of the building.

Dark Horse were keeping to the rules laid down by Mafia Land for interpersonal behaviour; if Colonnello couldn't cope with that he needed to rethink working here.

* * *

"Voi, are you just going to lie around all day and get slow and fat?"

Xanxus gave his Rain the finger, not looking up from his book. Yes, he _was_ spending a lot of every day lying around on his new favourite couch, but that wasn't _all_ he was doing. It was just that he felt more active in the early mornings and late evenings, before dawn and at dusk, so he was going out for runs then and napping to catch up on his sleep.

He generally ended up running with one or other of his Lightnings; Schön for instance was far more athletic than her curves implied and Mjölnir was an unrepentant morning person. Both Ladies were good company and happy to detour over the mountain, up trees and across the beach depending on his whims. He admittedly wasn't doing much sparring, but running across sand while carrying a grown woman deliberately making herself 'Hard to move' was definitely keeping him in good shape. Not a traditional strength training exercise admittedly, but it worked and he preferred to keep regular strength training to evenings anyway, so he didn't then have to suffer through muscle fatigue all day.

Squalo huffed. "Well I was going to offer a spar but if you're going to be like that, forget it."

"Shark." Xanxus looked up from Viola Neroni's agonising over whether to trust the charming hitman or the teasing thief, thoughts clicking swiftly into place. How long had it been since he'd done something –anything– with his Right Hand? Too damn long, clearly.

Grabbing his bookmark, he slid it into the novel and got to his feet, making eye-contact. "Let's spar. Outside." They had exclusive use of a section of the mountainside outside the tourist area, including a patch of beach and some rock-pools along with part of the steep wooded slope and a small plateau. They weren't allowed to damage the bedrock and had to replace any destroyed trees, but that wasn't so serious a limitation. It'd get some of their trees out of pots even, for all they'd have to pick the ones that fitted the existing ecosystem.

"Vooi, whatever." Squalo stomped off, presumably to add extra weapons since an outdoor spar was implied to be no-holds-barred, unlike an indoor one where there were restrictions so as not to demolish walls. Xanxus headed off for his own apartment; he needed to grab his jacket, knives and some extra ammunition for his guns. He might or might not use them, but best to have them with him if only to ensure he didn't have to come back and fetch them later.

* * *

"So what did you have in mind?" Squalo asked once they were out of the building and most of their way to the training area.

"Box Weapons and blades," Xanxus decided, "to begin with." His guns were more likely to gouge holes in the underlying substrate, so best not to use them until he was more familiar with the terrain.

"What, ganging up on me? Vooi, three on one just 'cause you're not using your guns isn't fucking fair," shark complained.

Xanxus side-eyed his Rain. "Three on _two_ , shark; sparring near the beach." The water would be deep enough for the bull shark Box Weapon to not need a bubble of Flames to float in.

"I'm still outnumbered; pick one Box Weapon and stick with it."

Well it _was_ a spar… "Optima," Xanxus decided; he'd done less with her and needed the practice. She was just as comfortable in water as Bester was, so that wouldn't be a problem.

"Points for kills, best out of five?"

Fewer points meant the spar went slower, as the participants had to focus on not letting their opponents score hits as much as on attacking. Spars with more points in play were faster and more brutal, because a rapid-fire series of strong attacks could get you ahead even if you took a hit or two along the way. Right now Xanxus was in the mood for a messy frenzy that left them both bleeding and sore. "Best out of thirteen."

Shark's sinister grin said he'd caught _all_ the subtext there. "As you say, Boss." He instantly took off at a run, vaulting the token fence marking the boundary line and vanishing into the trees.

Xanxus let Optima out and darted after him.

* * *

It had been _months_ since Squalo had the opportunity for this kind of spar with his Sky and it was fucking _fantastic_. Getting to use Alo made it even better, although he had to divide his focus in a way he generally didn't have to in order to guide the bull shark. It was a challenge, but one he welcomed; he'd not had the opportunity to use his Box Weapon in any spars yet –he'd practiced by himself on various empty beaches at night right after getting it so as to make sure he really could control it and make it do all the things his fake memories said it should be able to do and more– because it took a lot of Flames and had absolutely zero stealth capacity on land. Alo was a melee weapon and intimidation tool, so rarely used because Squalo was an assassin and most fights took place away from water.

This fight however was back and forth along a beach, in and out of the surf, so the perilous footing was more than made up for by having a hard-to-track Box Weapon with a bite like a chainsaw lurking in the wings, making the water as dangerous to Xanxus as the tree-line was for Squalo; Optima was a jaguar and they climbed.

Squalo had no idea whether Alo was male or female –how could you tell on a fish?– so he referred to the Box Weapon as an 'it.' Alo's sheer size meant that it was more likely to be female than male, but Squalo didn't know and didn't think it mattered much. It was a shark; they weren't exactly the brightest of creatures.

Right now they stood at five points to seven, Squalo being two ahead after Alo had caught Xanxus in the leg by deliberately beaching itself and yanking him to the ground, which the Rain had followed up with an aborted stab between the ribs that would have skewered the Sky through the heart if this had been a real fight. Xanxus had rolled free with a flare of Wrath and staggered away up the beach after that, retreating swiftly to the tree-line to discourage pursuit so he could Mist-trick his leg into not bleeding and temporarily knit the muscles back together. Luss would probably be pissed at them over that if Alo had done serious damage, but that was later.

The fight would continue regardless of Xanxus being able to Deny his injuries out of existence, because that was how this kind of spar went. Squalo however hadn't wanted a jaguar dropping on his head again, so had hesitated to give chase. Seeing as Xanxus didn't seem to be coming back on his own, the Rain climbed a tree –to make ambush harder– and set about tracking the other man down from the canopy, Alo swimming parallel to him just deep enough for its dorsal fin to not be visible. The thing about artificial islands? Once off the beach you were assured deep ocean in five metres or less.

If it came to it he could bridge the gap between ocean and tree-line with Flames in seconds and launch the bull shark at his opponent, but that was more of a distraction than a proper attack. The space for sparring in was limited; for all his Sky was hiding his Flames he couldn't be all that far away.

There was a twitch of Mist behind him and Squalo was already leaping around and away as a blade sliced along his carotid, carving a fine bleeding line across his neck but not deep enough to touch the artery. Gumming up the wound with his Flames, Squalo landed awkwardly in another tree as Alo soared up and out of the water to float incongruously above him, watching his back in case of suddenly appearing jaguars.

Back where he'd been standing, Xanxus flicked blood off his knife and smirked, his right trouser leg shredded above the top of his boot and his shirt torn in several places. "Six," the Sky drawled.

Six and seven was thirteen; Squalo had won after Alo caught Xanxus unawares and he'd taken advantage, but his Sky had clearly wanted to get that last kill in rather than just call it a day. "I win then."

"This time," Xanxus purred, and wow his Sky was in a good mood to just let the loss go like that. Then again, it _was_ the man's first time sparring against Squalo with Alo in play –first time sparring for real; fake memories didn't count– and he was using Optima rather than Bester and no guns, which meant an altogether different combat style to what he was more familiar with. Using knives meant Squalo had the advantage of reach, provided the knives weren't being thrown at him. Which several had been.

"Back to the clinic so Luss can check us over and cluck then," Squalo decided, dropping carefully out of the tree so as not to jar his left shoulder –which had deep fang-marks in– and sheathing his sword.

Xanxus slid down the trunk of the palm he was in more cautiously, Optima descending from a nearby tree as his feet hit the ground and coming up alongside him so he could rest a hand between her shoulders and reduce the weight on his left knee.

"Voi, did Alo rip something important?" That hadn't been intentional.

His Sky huffed. "Wasn't paying attention," he dismissed, turning and limping back towards civilisation. Squalo dismissed his Box Weapon and strode after them, nudging the jaguar out of the way so as to stick his right shoulder in Xanxus's armpit.

"If your tendons got ripped I'm _never_ going to hear the end of it, voi."

"Have to get you in on uniform testing," Xanxus commented dryly, leaning more of his weight on Squalo; "these trousers are _supposed_ to be stab proof."

"Stab _resistant_ , Xanxus," the Rain corrected irritably; "flexibility's a trade-off with armouring and Alo combines pressure _and_ tearing. Might have to discuss the possibility of lightweight overlapping plates in the lining for next year though or else some kind of mesh; considering all the interconnected bits in the knee, shallow crushing injuries are less difficult to treat than deep tearing ones."

"Sure Luss will have ideas," the Sky rumbled as they hobbled back across the boundary, Optima bounding ahead and then circling back around behind to watch their perimeter.

The Sun certainly would, but to hear them they'd have to sit through the scolding and mother-hen fussing first.

Worth it though, for the fun they'd had.

* * *

It turned out his tendons were fine, but Alo had put a hairline crack in his shin so after Luss fussed over them both and healed up their flesh wounds the Sun had put a brace around his lower leg and ordered Xanxus to keep his weight off it for the next fortnight. That put paid to running as cardio; swimming was fine but he'd rather not do it around tourists, which meant pre-dawn swimming. Have to catch the hourly bulletins on local conditions, currents and wildlife too; he'd never hear the end of it if he got caught in a current or tangled up in a jellyfish swarm.

He was a bit annoyed by that, but he really should have been paying more attention to shark's Box Weapon since he'd never fought against it before –not in real life– so it was his own damn fault. Oh well; more time to do essays and read. Well, that and he'd have time to look at Grandma's photo albums that she'd left him; he'd not done more than briefly leaf through those yet, but now he had all the time in the world to examine them and go through other shit she'd left him. Like those letters he'd not even touched.

He'd also have time to work on the selective intangibility application of Harmony that Florrie had suggested was possible back in the summer, which he was making some progress with. In that he could apply it to himself, but getting it to work on things touching –or not touching– him was still hit-and-miss so while yes he could walk through walls now, he had a better-than-even chance of arriving naked and unarmed and that wasn't practical.

He'd have time to write up an experimental framework and rope one of his subordinates into playing lab assistant; it'd make a change from essays and wading through grief.

Shifting his leg slightly, Xanxus settled himself more comfortably on the couch and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. Since he was immobilised and it was mid-afternoon, he could call horse for a chat. His little brother would appreciate the contact and he could find out about recent Vongola developments. Mafia Land was currently five hours ahead of Sicily, moving across the Bay of Bengal in the direction of Sri Lanka, so horse would be coming up on lunchtime and was likely to be free to talk.

* * *

"Horse."

"Hello Xanxus!" Dino said cheerfully, then had to reach out to steady his in-tray as Banshee bounded up onto his desk and leaned into his face and the phone receiver, purring like a motorcycle engine. "Banshee is saying hello too."

"Can hear," his brother said, amusement clear in his tone as the cat meowed loudly, evidently recognising his voice despite the distortion. "Hullo cat; behaving yourself for horse?"

Banshee chirped, hopping off the desk into Dino's lap and butting her head against his chest. Dino rubbed behind her ears with his free hand, by now more than used to her autocratic feline habits, and smiled as she started purring again.

"She's a lovely cat," he said warmly. "How have you been?"

"Decent," his brother conceded. "Bored idiots are making trouble with Colonnello, but nothing major."

The ex-Varia moving to Mafia Land had sent the Underworld gossip circuit into overdrive, which had only escalated since the ill-fated invasion attempt at the beginning of the month; no offensive had ever been so swiftly and comprehensively quashed. Dino had heard all kinds of stories featuring hair-raising assassin antics, but for Xanxus to call them 'nothing major' implied that was business as usual for him. These shenanigans had evidently been confined to Varia Headquarters until now, so nobody else had known about them, but were now playing out in public on the Underworld's most prominent patch of neutral territory. Apparent hauntings, casual home invasions, clothing theft in broad daylight, bar fights, dancing penguins charming money out of tourists, block parties with pterodactyls and a whole bunch of long-retired hitmen claiming they'd seen a Sky who was _definitely_ dead out shopping, oh my.

If that kind of thing was _normal_ then Dino was glad it wasn't him having to run herd on his newest Family members; Xanxus could keep his lunatics and was welcome to them.

"Anything going down at your end?"

Dino hummed, thinking over the past week's events. "The Family's doing fairly well; a few people suffering the flu, but nothing serious. Don Vongola is giving the impression that he _would_ like to enact sanctions, but the Alliance's current situation is far too precarious for it to be workable so he's just being passive-aggressive and acting offended. I'm seeing more of Tsuna as a result, as he's acting as go between; he's taking quite an interest in Christianity, as it happens. I got him a bible in a newer Japanese translation for Christmas since the Italian copy he was wrestling with was proving rather opaque and he's rather lively on the subject." It was rather encouraging actually, considering how awful things likely were for his not-quite-brother at the moment. That Tsuna was managing to stay positive despite the dreadful Family mismanagement and likely disaster he stood to inherit later this year was a good sign.

Xanxus snorted; Dino tactfully changed the subject.

"The hospital project is making decent progress and construction is moving forwards; the Alliata and Lanza have made contributions towards funding so we're able to start surveying for the next set of buildings while the first phase of construction is ongoing. We've also got a waiting list of people interested in working there, so we're likely to be able to open the doors as soon as the building is sufficiently complete. The Ferri haven't reported any issues and Dario said their quarterly accounts are in excellent shape, so I assume they're dealing with any challenges of their own just fine."

"Good to hear."

Dino smiled at the pleased note in his brother's voice; it was nice to hear Xanxus sounding so well after weeks of strain and dull indifference. "All our siblings are doing fine and the wider Superbi are gearing up for something big, although I have no idea what as Pantera keeps stonewalling me. An Alliance thing I believe; my Guardians are as out of the loop as I am so he's more likely to tell you, what with you being both related and well removed from politics right now."

"Might ask," Xanxus conceded, interest colouring his tone. "Birthday present arrived in time?"

"Yes it did, thank you; I've been wearing it every time I go out." Xanxus had sent him a discreetly armoured and Flame-proof coat cut for riding in, so he'd been wearing it at every possible opportunity. It went well with his new Flame-proof boots; why had he never asked where the Varia got their boots until last autumn? They were the most comfortable footwear he'd ever owned!

"What it's for," his brother said amusedly.

Dino chuckled, scratching Banshee behind the ears. "And perfectly fit for purpose, although I'm not entirely sure how you knew my size."

"Luss," Xanxus drawled, which explained far too much and not nearly enough; Dino very firmly decided he didn't want to know. Best not to think about how somebody he'd barely met a handful of times knew his measurements.

"Oh, there was something I was wondering about," the Cavallone don continued, sliding his chair back from his desk slightly and relaxing back against the upholstery, "about something you said in January."

"Oh?"

"You said that Nono had consolidated his hold over the Vongola by building a personality cult; could you elaborate on that?" Yes, Don Vongola _did_ like to sell himself as a benevolent old man but it didn't quite reach cult levels from what Dino had seen; not nearly enough propaganda.

There was a sigh over the phone line, accompanied by a low, rumbling growl that Dino recognised as Bester's version of a purr. "Where'd you learn about Vongola history, horse?"

"At the Academy?" Xanxus hadn't attended but Dino certainly had, along with just about every other child on the Alliance and most of the adjacent Allies.

"Who printed the textbooks?"

Dino frowned, trying to bring that book to mind. Who had it been… " _Pubblicazioni Perla_ , I think?"

"Who owns that?"

"I have no idea," he admitted, frowning harder; all his school textbooks –bar grammar, mathematics and physics– had been Pearl, now he thought about it; that was unusual when they weren't a major national company.

"Property of the Don Vongola," his brother told him quietly. "Founded by Ottava before the war; private company. Meant to counter fascist propaganda; old fart turned it into Vongola propaganda."

"Oh." Suddenly his old schoolbooks looked a whole lot more sinister.

"Hm," Xanxus agreed tiredly. "Had a look-through shark's copies; the illustrations are all fifties and sixties romanticising rather than of the original portraits hanging around the Iron Fort and the historical events surrounding Primo's rise to power and rule are all edited into inaccuracy and massively distorted; take a look at the language sometime, it's very biased. Secondo is presented as massively more militant than his predecessor –which is inaccurate– and is credited with causing a lot of wider issues that his behaviour was actually in response to. The moderate bosses have their harsher actions glossed over and buried, the militant bosses have their philanthropy downplayed and the near-schism over Quarto's kids barely gets a mention; it's put down as 'Quarto being paranoid about his wife's fidelity and nominating his bastard' when it was really about Quarto's oldest raping a Superbi."

"I didn't know that." Dino felt shaken; how much more _extremely relevant_ local history didn't he know?

"It's there if you go digging," his brother told him quietly. "The Academy's where indoctrination happens; it's a cult of Primo rather than of any living Don, with a moderate Don Vongola presented as Primo's spiritual successor and therefore above reproach. Ottava even gets spun as more moderate than not, with her wartime actions being because 'she had no choice' or her fellow dons' lack of respect forcing her hand, which is _garbage_ because Grandma was _utterly_ militant and unashamed of it. Her Allies all fell in line because she scared them shitless and they didn't want her aimed their way; none of what she did was anything other than entirely her own idea. She founded the _Varia_ which yes, there was a war on, but with rising globalisation I think she'd have done it anyway.

"There's also a completely one-sided presentation of Nono's past policies and decisions, limited presentation of the actions of other Families –generally only to show the Vongola leadership in a good light– and a subtle biased slant throughout that Skies know more than everybody else due to their Flame-type and are therefore the only valid leadership choice," Xanxus continued sourly, "along with affirming Flame stereotypes by cherry-picking historical people's behaviour to conform with said stereotypes. It's a complete shit-show and it's been building gradually for the past half-century; nobody discusses bias in the written word until university level, so that elementary, middle and high school education might be borderline indoctrination never really gets thought about. Who looks critically at what they studied as kids?"

"Nobody," Dino confirmed, feeling chilled. This was big. He'd have to dig his own textbooks out and set several people to comparing them to the Cavallone Archives, for proof. Not that he could take the proof to Don Vongola; after all a history text couldn't _possibly_ cover everything, so a lot would be left out. Clearly. The schoolbooks were only supposed to provide a general overview of events. That was what Don Vongola would say anyway.

Taking his evidence to the Superbi though… that would get him somewhere. The Lanza and Alliata would probably be interested too, as would the Scarlatti and the Zanasi. More little things piling up as proof of Nono Vongola's oppressive influence and tendency to gloss over the things he didn't want people to notice, as it would lead them to question his decisions.

"Yeah, so," Xanxus grumbled, "personality cult. Of Primo; doubt Chew Toy's seen a single scrap of original material on the fanatical zealot he's supposedly modelling himself after."

Dino winced; ouch. Well that _did_ go a way to explain some of his brother's animosity at least; if he'd learned all his history from reading the Vongola Family Archives, then Tsuna's superficial and clearly romanticised take on the Vongola founder would obviously have rubbed Xanxus wrong right from the outset. He should probably talk to his Family archivists and see what they could recommend in terms of contemporary biographers for the first and second generation, since he didn't have clue what Xanxus was talking about either.

"I'll go digging," he promised; since his brother had gone to the effort of explaining all this he owed it to the man to do some corroborative research.

"Good," Xanxus grumbled. "Kids doing okay?"

Dino gratefully went with the change of subject. "Denise is taking to steeple-chasing with terrifying ease," he shared, "and Demetrio is showing a flare for dressage. They both competed in the local stables' under-fifteens competition and won ribbons!"

"Good on them," his brother said, voice softening. "Less horsy achievements?"

Dino chuckled. "Demetrio's taken up the flute and apparently enjoying it; Denise has joined a volleyball team."

"Give them my best."

"I will do; can they call you after school?"

"Sure."

"I know they're sure to talk your ear off, so I'll let you take an hour or so to steel yourself," Dino teased gently. "Goodbye, Xanxus."

"Bye horse."

Dino set the phone back in its cradle and sighed, looking down at the cat in his lap. "Well, this is another fine mess, isn't it?" he mused. "Xanxus isn't the sort to make spurious accusations after all."

"Mmrrrrraaooow," Banshee replied, glancing briefly at him and then turning to nuzzle his fingers.

"Yes, you're right; I'd better put some people on it," the Cavallone Don agreed, digging in his fingertips under her chin. "Istrice will enjoy throwing himself headfirst into my Family archives and he'll be just as offended by the possibility of presentation bias in his school textbooks as Xanxus is." His Cloud was very reserved, but Dino could sense the deep affection Istrice felt for him for allowing the younger man to wander as he pleased and was perfectly happy to left the Cloud continue to drift around him.

It was surprisingly wonderful, having somebody who was only here because they wanted to be.

* * *

Maínomai was bouncing cheerfully along the road, freshly returned from completing a very fun contract and already planning in his head what he was going to do with the money –a birthday present for Captain, some pretty yarn for himself, a new wetsuit so he could go swimming more often and with less risk of getting pantsed– when he recognised the person loitering at the all-day noodle shop across the road and along a little from the Cavallone apartment block the former Varia all lived in.

That was _Iemitsu_ oh shit Pýř had said Boss had a broken leg what the _fuck_ was the External Advisor _scum_ doing here he was going to ruin everything and Boss was _better_ –

The Vongola External Advisor set down his cup, dropped some cash on the counter and walked out from under the sunshade, making eye-contact and opening his mouth to–

–Maínomai _acted_.

* * *

In an alleyway behind the main thoroughfare, Maínomai flicked through his phone contacts until he found Kuchisake and called her, foot scuffing nervously at the loose sand as he waited for her to pick up.

It took a while. He stared at the back of the timber building and the locked door by the bins, trying to ignore the rancid stench of rotting garbage. This was not a remotely nice alleyway to loiter in, but it was private and that was what he needed right now.

"Maínomai, I am having _fun_ but you only call when it's important so I _might_ let you off," his friend crooned, a hint of heavy breathing and the muted background cheering and heckling indicating that she'd been sparring. A team spar?

"I need you to check my work, I've never done a proper Real Illusion before and I'm not sure how long it's going to last?" Maínomai babbled. "But it _needs_ to last so as to make sure nobody comes looking for Iemitsu here and Boss shouldn't have to deal with this; I just–"

Kuchisake appeared through a rip in thin air that billowed white fog which spread out to fill the narrow dead-end, her phone still in her hand, looked from the Real Illusion standing next to Maínomai with its hands in its suit pockets to the headless corpse propped against the wall opposite and started cackling hysterically.

Maínomai ended the call and shuffled his feet awkwardly as he waited for her to calm down. Yes he _was_ impulsive but it _wasn't funny!_ He didn't want Boss to get in trouble! He'd called Kuchisake for help arranging plausible deniability, not so she could laugh at him!

"You," his friend wheezed eventually, "are a _sweetheart_ , Maínomai. I _love_ it." She took a deep, shuddering breath and pocketed her phone. "Give me a moment, I'm basking." She hummed, eyes fluttering closed. Then after about thirty seconds she straightened up, brushed her wildly tangled hair out of her face and set her shoulders. "Right, I'm sober now. The Illusion looks good, but I can reinforce it if you like, make it a collaboration; it should be harder to discover that way. What are you using –ah, clever, building it off his head; _very_ clever. The brain's still fresh to provide likely thought pathways and it can leave skin, hair and Flame tags like a real person would."

"I just need it to last for twenty-four hours," Maínomai said doggedly, "so it can take the ferry to the Maldives and then destroy his identification and vanish, there's a ton of Underworld smuggling through there so it'll take a while for anybody to realise he _has_ vanished and he'll have been seen there –there's even an airport– so people will think he took a discreet transport or something and then not look here. The head will teleport back to my freezer when the body starts falling apart and the construct's got an Alteration on that makes people ignore it that will kick in once that happens, so that'll give it another quarter of an hour or so to lay false Flame-trails and vanish into crowds." He'd possibly over-engineered all the contingency Alterations, but better safe than sorry.

"Best to send it a little further than that," Kuchisake mused, idly kicking the External Advisor's decapitated corpse in the shin. "Maldives is a good idea though; from there… hmm… Oman. Lots of places to disappear to by land, air and sea; significant mixed Underworld presence; terrible human rights record. Foreigners are generally unwelcome, so it'll take some time before it becomes clear whether he's not been seen because he's lying low or because he's not there anymore." She reached out towards the construct with her Flames; Maínomai let her explore the structure and twine around and through it. "You've really done an excellent job; are you sure you don't want to leave the head in a dry well somewhere as a surprise?"

"No evidence," Maínomai insisted. "I've moved his phone and wallet over and I'm going to Alter the body unrecognisable, contain the Flame signature and have Sekti incinerate it for me. Then do the same for the head once it gets back." That way Iemitsu would be 'missing' rather than 'dead' and it would be harder to determine what had happened to him exactly or when. Bodies could say a lot so better not to give it the chance.

"So practical," his friend sighed, pouting for a moment before her demeanour turned professional again. "It will work; once you've dealt with the head remember to bury the memories."

"Ah yes good point." It wouldn't do at all to commit a perfect crime then accidentally confess to it later. Maínomai sent the Illusory Iemitsu –Illumitsu?– on its way and Altered the External Advisor's headless corpse into a plush toddler-sized Reborn toy, identical to the ones that got handed out at a range of fairground games as consolation prizes. The difference in weight and density were being compensated for by Mist; Sekti would just notice it taking a bit more effort to burn than it really should have.

"Well, to justify my departure from a very _fun_ sparring session with the Security Forces I need a plausible excuse," Kuchisake mused, "but the timing precludes you causing an amusing disaster, so I recommend a panic attack."

"Well I _did_ just see Iemitsu and hide in an alleyway," Maínomai muttered glumly; he _hated_ panic attacks.

Kuchisake wrapped an arm around his back. "Come on, it's for a good cause," she wheedled. "It's for _Boss_. I'll take you around the fairground afterwards even, to explain where that awful toy came from as well as why you'd want to incinerate it later. I'll even buy you food."

"Well I suppose a panic attack _would_ explain why I called you not Pýř as I'm not exactly rational when I'm panicking," Maínomai conceded unhappily, "and–"

His brain froze, screamed and ran off in seventeen different directions at once as terror and horror exploded across his mind.

"Shh, shh, I'm here, I've got you," his friend crooned, lowering him to sit on the sand and pushing his head down between his knees. "Breathe."

Maínomai wanted to kick her for doing this to him but couldn't find the coordination to do so. He _hated_ panic attacks!

* * *

At the beginning of March a handful of ex-Varia had made an appointment at Colonnello's Security office and suggested some official joint exercises. Starting with paintball matches with various Security teams against the assassins, then moving on to mixed teams a few weeks in once everybody 'knew each-other.'

Colonnello had had no illusions that his men would get soundly thrashed by the newcomers, but official matches at pre-arranged times were better than random ambushes at all hours of the day and night interrupting training so he'd agreed to it. At least this way his men would know who they were fighting and how many people they were trying to find, rather than spending a full day running all over the woods, finding nobody and walking into the showers fully dressed because their clothing was splattered with eight different paint colours up and down their torso in _stripes_. _Symmetrical_ stripes even! If only because they'd gotten bored of flags that matched his men's nationalities!

By the end of the first week morale was up, if only because _openly_ getting completely trashed by variously-sized groups of ex-Varia meant being able to see all those lunatic assassins giving each-other shit and taking pot-shots at each-other as well as at the opposing team. It humanised them, making their frankly ludicrous woodcraft skills look less like supernatural talent and more like something the Security Forces could maybe match given enough time and training.

Colonnello wished he knew how they were doing that, so he could teach his men to do it too. It was looking like he'd have to hire some ex-Varia to teach if he wanted that though, which he was reluctant to do: they were Cavallone, so not neutral. _He_ was neutral, being entirely without Underworld connections beyond his fellow ex-Arcobaleno –who weren't a Family anyway– so Mafia Land was happy to have him train their men, but hiring teachers from established Families would set a precedent and create a means by which external forces could exert influence over the island's governing body.

That meant he probably wasn't going to be able to teach his men Varia-level woodcraft, because those would be proprietary Family secrets. Xanxus would insist they signed contracts and then they'd lose neutrality. Kurt had already been providing sniper training –had been doing so for years in fact– but seeing him with his former colleagues made it clear that the ex-soldier had a great many more skills he'd been keeping to himself and that rankled. It also made it abundantly clear that, long-retired and supposedly unaffiliated or not, Kurt saw himself as Varia. Well, ex-Varia, but with all of them retiring together and staying as a cohesive force under Xanxus's horrendously lax leadership there wasn't any significant difference between 'Varia' and 'former Varia' save that they were no longer Vongola aligned.

Supposedly Cavallone or not, Colonnello seriously doubted even one of them would jump if Reborn's former pupil demanded it. They were Xanxus's men through and through.

Well, Xanxus's _people_ ; not all of them were men, even when not counting Viper and their refusal to commit to one specific gender. Colonnello had met four women so far but had been assured there were at least as many again, along with a few other individuals who felt that clear gendering was something that only happened to other people.

It didn't make any sense to him, but then again neither did homosexuality or Elvis impersonators and they still happened, so he had to just keep his mouth shut and let them get on with it.

It was just that. Well. Watching them rib each-other mercilessly and shriek and ambush one-another and beat each-other bloody then laugh and leave the playing field as friends again while swearing dramatic vengeance reminded him of boot camp. He'd not thought about boot camp in nearly forty years –not since sneaking out of his posting one afternoon to watch Lal with her weird new 'friends,' following her up a mountain and then throwing himself between her and what he'd thought was an explosion– but watching Xanxus's people horse around brought it all back.

Jer and Cat and Kele and Dre and Fatty and Uncle and Sprout; what had happened to them? What did they think had happened to _him_? Did they think he'd just chickened out and run away, or that he'd got drunk and fallen off a cliff and never been seen again? Nearly forty years on and he didn't have a clue; he'd probably never find out, what with looking like he could be his own grandson. His old squad would all be in their sixties now, if they were even still alive, and here he was, physically _five_.

Colonnello tried not to think about his old squad-mates if he could avoid it, but right now he couldn't stop and being physically a small child –really _genuinely_ a small child rather than just being small– made the associated emotions both painful and overwhelming. It wasn't _fair_ that he was stuck aging at normal speed when Reborn was already a teenager and even _Viper_ was twice his current physical age!

* * *

Squalo was going through the accounts of his new supply business –Mist-enabled smuggling to get around Mafia Land's extortionate port tariffs– and feeling quietly smug that it was providing sufficient savings that Mammon was spontaneously moving from 'silent partner' to 'accounts overseer' without demanding an additional fee for their time, when the phone rang. The fixed-line phone hooked up to the Mafia Land network, which only existed because they were a requirement for rental: the person renting a property or running a business based on the island was required to have a physical address and a fixed-line phone _at_ that address that the island's authorities could reach them through.

Eyeing the elderly telephone with the suspicion it deserved, Squalo lifted the receiver to his ear. "Vooi, speaking."

"Well hello to you too, nephew," said a vaguely familiar female voice; Superbi definitely but which aunt was it? "Seeing as you've set up on your own with an apprentice I agreed to come over and offer congratulations and presents in person; it's Guigna, Squalo. I'm here to see Coguaro too of course, but you're who we have plausible excuses for."

One of Xanxus's closer aunts; well that made sense. "Voi, if you've got the phone number you know the address," he told her. Technically the individual business offices were in the building which had Luss's clinic as its ground and first floor –and half the basement– but it was easier to have them come here and then take them to the Stables –as people were starting to call the Cavallone apartment building– than to give them an address. Mafia Land addresses were a bit weird, depending as they did on grid coordinates rather than streets, which were rather fluid outside the tourist centre and tended to move. Casual defacement of street signs –deliberate or not– was fairly common, as were outright removal or replacement, so finding the correct street meant having to know where you were going in the unplanned shanty town that had sprung up outside the pretty tourist area. So the authorities went by the grid.

The clinic was right out on the edge of the tourist and commercial section where it melded into the 'shady business' section and the roads were more conventions than actually named and tarred, but Squalo had a feeling the locals would be keen to improve access once Luss's organ transplants started really raking in the cash; they'd be getting a cut of the revenue after all. The Stables was behind and a bit off to one side, on a track opposite the decent-sized maze of fast food huts the locals ate at and one of a ragged row of several residential blocks, so it was hard to tell whether you'd found the right place.

The locals all knew of course, but they weren't going to talk about it. Mafia Land locals took 'not my business' to a whole new level.

Now, which aunt was Guigna again? Xanxus's side clearly with a name like that and not his Sky's mother's actual sister –that was Ornata– so… Squalo still couldn't place her.

Oh well, he'd probably know her when he saw her.

* * *

When a handful of obvious Superbi swanned into his office led by a copper-haired and cheerfully butch lady hand in hand with another equally butch lady with ice-blue hair and several visible tattoos Squalo remembered which aunt Guigna was: the sports coach who was shacking up with a tattoo artist.

The other three cousins were from the bird branch of the family, having clearly picked up a contract for a goods delivery to Mafia Land in order to excuse stopping by to say hello rather than just dropping off Guigna and her partner. What was her name? His brain wanted to say 'Delibird' but that was a Pokémon not a proper animal and he was pretty sure she wasn't first-generation Superbi anyway.

"Squalo! Look at you!" Guigna said delightedly in French, hugging him when he got up and walked around the desk to greet them properly. "Not even three months on and a successful business owner already!"

"Thanks," Squalo said shortly, shifting a little awkwardly. It wasn't like it had been hard; he'd just had to float the idea to Tyrant to have him agree to let the Mist Apprentices take part-time contracts and then network with Housekeeping's existing suppliers to create delivery points. Pýř had then hired himself on as a field supervisor, Khon and Tenaz took over engaging with suppliers and all in all the whole thing wasn't even as hard as arranging campaigns, let alone Social Month madness. It practically ran itself.

"Got a few people who want to talk contracts and supplies with you," one of the cousins –Loriot, that was Loriot with that neon-blond hair which meant the practically-dressed brunette next to him was his sister Tisserine and the other guy was Freux– said, "since you've found a gap in the market that could mean good money in more perishable and fragile goods."

"Voi, be happy to talk shop," Squalo admitted; having a slightly more challenging work environment would keep him from getting bored.

"But _later_ ," Guigna said firmly. "First I want to see my other nephews and hand over all the gifts and deliveries entrusted to me. Since you did a runner a lot of family members are wanting to make sure you're all taking care of yourselves, so there's a range of care packages and various letters now that people are past the surprise." She glared at him. "And you should be grateful Pantera and Delfino are sitting on your phone number, or else it'd be ringing constantly."

"Vooi, why is everybody coming after _me_?" Squalo grumbled, shooing his relatives out of his office and locking up. "It's not like this was _my_ idea."

"You know better, Squalo," Tisserine said briskly. "Coguaro doesn't yet; he's barely realised he's family. You know we care more about ourselves than the Alliance party line and that we'd have been right behind him helping out if he'd mentioned the difficulties." She didn't mention Mahi, but then again he was technically Mahi's legal guardian so that was his fault too.

"Maybe," Squalo conceded as they headed down the back stairs, "but leaving was his thing." He had just been so _relieved_ that his Sky was getting out from under Don Vongola's thumb that he'd been happy to go along with whatever Xanxus wanted. Getting _out_ had been the important part; now he _was_ out they could focus on the practicalities and ongoing family things.

Loriot looked like he wanted to say something, but Tisserine hummed pointedly and he subsided.

"So, Mafia Land," Guigna said brightly as they headed down the track between the palm trees. "I've not visited before but I've heard a lot from the bird branch." She glanced around, taking in the weathered huts and the bullet holes. "The funfair looked interesting but nobody mentioned this part."

"Voi, this is backstage," Squalo said easily, moving to the front of the group and setting the pace. "Visitors don't usually venture beyond the commercial quarter; this is where the locals live. Cheaper than the fancy hotels and restaurants; food's still good though." He had a feeling Housekeeping was selling perishable supplies at a modest mark-up to some of these people, which was boosting the local economy while sneakily ensuring that assassins who ate out were still eating well. Winning them local goodwill and so on too.

" _Not_ what I was picturing when I heard you'd moved here," Loriot admitted, side-eyeing one of the closed huts, all peeling paint and mismatched repairs with uneven rows of empty beer bottles half-buried in the sand in front of it.

"Voooi, it's neutral," Squalo retorted, "which was what we wanted. Probably won't be here for more than a few years, but it's a good stopping point."

"Good," Guigna said firmly. "I'm sure if you mention your living requirements everybody will keep an eye out for somewhere that matches them."

That would at least keep the overt horror and well-meaning interference at a minimum. "More eyes the better." He stepped off the main track and through the gap in the rough fence that marked where the Wards ended. "Here we are."

Guigna sniffed, neck craning as she looked up. "Well, it's solid," she said dubiously.

"Big balconies," His aunt's partner –whose name he _still_ couldn't place– said mildly. "Decent vegetation too; is that an orange tree?"

"Good eye," Squalo complimented; "brought quite a few trees with us." The roof of the Stable was now a garden, permanently expanded into a Territory so that Housekeeping could grow more in the soil they'd brought along from Sicily. The roof of the office building also had a garden, but that one was more of a pharmacopeia than for eating out of; lots of poisons.

"And cats," Freux said abruptly, frowning. "Big cats."

Squalo glanced up; yep that was Lulu sunning herself. She was about eighteen and a lynx some long-ago Varia had brought back after a mission. She'd been born into the pet trade and couldn't be released back into the wild, so she was allowed to wander as she pleased inside the Wards and left to get on with cat things, which back home had included eating the occasional invading deer. The Stables was almost uncomfortably restricting for most of the big cats, but Mammon was working on sustainably enlarging the external parts of the Territory so they'd feel less confined.

"We couldn't exactly leave them behind," he pointed out, "or get rid of them; they're pets."

"You have a pet lynx?"

"Vooi! She's been Varia longer than I have," Squalo grouched; what was with that tone?! "She's eighteen and we've had her since she was a year old; somebody brought her back after a mission. What were we supposed to do, abandon her? Sell her to strangers? She's old and grumpy and used to us."

"I didn't know the Varia did cat rescue," Tisserine said mildly as they walked up the steps to the front door.

"Kill some rich asshole and find out they've got an ocelot in a run in the garden; can't exactly leave it at the mercy of the inheritance process when it's most likely to get abandoned, mistreated or put down," Squalo said, rolling his eyes, "or at least that's the usual reasoning. Some of the younger ones do get passed on to zoos, as do mothers with pure cubs. The mutts and older ones we keep." All kinds of weird feline hybrids got born in captivity but they had zero value on the market and were often a bit unpredictable. However they made good security and were friendly enough. Well, by assassin standards anyway; the liopards had even been on the Varia flag.

* * *

Optima was lounging on her shelf in the front hall, nearly three metres up and tail twitching idly as they walked past her into the common area. Clearly feeling too comfortable –and possibly too full– to play at ambushing him right now, but Xanxus having Housekeeping put up a range of high shelves in all the common rooms and hallways as 'enrichment' meant at least that _everybody_ was getting ambushed now, not just him every time he walked into his Sky's apartment.

All the cats liked the shelves, even Lulu who didn't really climb. They liked the tubes and chutes connecting the different levels too; there'd always been cats in the laundry chutes back at the Varia though, so at least that wasn't a new problem.

"Xanxus! My God what happened to your leg?"

Xanxus set his book aside and sat up slightly to make it easier for Guigna to hug him, which was his version of a warm welcome complete with flags and a brass band. "Sparring accident," he replied negligently; "cracked my shin."

"Well so long as it isn't serious." She smiled quickly at her partner when she dragged the loveseat closer, but not so close as to disturb Bester who was flopped on the rug with his head in Xanxus's lap. "The family was keen to send you all kinds of things, and since I got in first and had holiday booked they had me bring it. Loriot's got it all on board with the regular cargo."

"Grab a few people and have them help," the Sky drawled, tipping his head back to make eye-contact with the assassins who'd all wandered closer to eavesdrop on the visitors. "Makes yourselves useful, trash."

Loriot and his closer relatives left with a handful of assassins to help them carry things and Squalo went to put a pot of tea on for their guests. He came back to find Guigna enthusiastically sharing a story about the athletics team she was coaching, Xanxus smirking slightly in a way that said he was enjoying the unexpected invasion of relatives.

"Voi, drinks," the Rain said, stepping over Bester and setting the tray on the table.

"Just milk for me but Delibird takes sugar."

Squalo paused. "I am sure that is _not_ your name," he said frankly to the tattoo artist with the undercut light blue hair, "but fuck if I can remember what it actually is."

She grinned at him. "It's Delilah; just half a teaspoon of sugar, please."

Well that made _much_ more sense.


	7. Chapter 7

**Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

Along with the chocolate and coffee and pasta and homemade preserves and pickles and candied fruit and other goodies Guigna had delivered to Xanxus from the wider Family and a smaller selection of treats for Mahi, there was also a document folder and four elderly vanity hardbacks in Sicilian for Squalo from his little sister.

Squalo suspected his sister had assumed he knew Sicilian, which he didn't; he could vaguely understand it when he heard it but he couldn't speak it or read it. Apparently he actually needed to learn it properly now, since the only reason she'd send him old books was that they were backing up her research into the Vongola family tree, which she was sending him either for verification or praise.

It wasn't like their parents were validating his sister's interests and this clearly wasn't something she was comfortable talking about to her foster-mother, so Squalo it was. He'd have to talk to Kuchisake about getting the language's basics implanted; it'd hurt like hell but speed was likely of the essence here, so he couldn't just teach himself. Delfina had told kitty already, that much was clear, but he was more 'annoying relative' than 'trusted authority figure.'

He opened the folder in his apartment, removing the envelope that said 'read first' and only giving the paper behind it a cursory glance; it looked like a larger sheet concertina-folded to fit.

The 'read first' was a letter; Squalo scanned it quickly.

Iemitsu was _missing_? Since when? How had Delfina found out? That wasn't something Nono was going to want spread about. This letter had been written over a week ago, so at least that long.

A summary of the ongoing Vongola implosion, great; notes on how Don Vongola was making it worse, even better. Asides on how Chew Toy's attempts to improve matters were muddying the waters, fabulous; trash would do better either staying out of it or cutting Nono from the picture entirely for his failings and now publically known crimes committed against the Alliance.

Indecisiveness killed far more often than hastiness. Or was this more conflicted half-heartedness? That wasn't exactly any better.

She was 'done' with family tree research? Fair enough; it'd been well over a year now since he'd mentioned it in passing and she'd headed down the rabbit hole. What, _all_ of it was in here? Well, all the originals and the references and…

His sister had _stolen_ these books? Out of the Vongola Archives? How the _F_ –

Oh, sneaky. An archivist internship? Well she was Visconti's daughter's foster-daughter; she had connections. And they'd been throwing stuff _out_? That defeated the entire _purpose_ of an Archive. Archivist hadn't been happy; well _obviously_ not. His sister had then offered to 'remove' the offending items –like fuck they 'needed the space,' that was what Mists were for and the Iron Fort was _huge_ – and re-homed them discreetly. All save for these four volumes, which she'd sent to him 'for obvious reasons.'

Considering she'd arranged a delivery to the Cavallone as well as squirreling away most of the rest in the extensive and labyrinthine Superbi Archives, what was _in_ these books that she'd sent them all the way out here?

Learning Sicilian had suddenly shot to the top of his 'to do' list; he should ask Kuchisake later this evening.

Opening the document folder again, Squalo reached for the concertina-folded paper and unfurled it. All the way out; it was _wider_ than he was _tall_ , how much work had this–?

Wow, Sesto Vongola really _had_ fucked everything female that didn't get out the way fast enough, hadn't he?

* * *

It took Squalo a full forty-five minutes, plus his little sister's notes, to work out who had the best claim to the Decimo position based on lines of descent, aptitude and the appropriate Flame-type. It was a choice of four, as it happened: Candidate the first was Merlo Superbi, who happened to be the Latent Sky grandson of the marriage between Fabio D'Ignoto, illegitimate grandson of Simora Vongola, and Merla Superbi, fully legitimate granddaughter of Duate Vongola and his Superbi wife, making him a joining of both of Secondo's wives' lines. Merlo was thirty-seven and running a very successful business, so could probably run the Alliance if he wanted to. He also had two children under ten, one of whom was another Sky.

Candidate the second was Giorgia Visconti, Federico Vongola's illegitimate daughter and actually an Active Sky under the apparent Cloudiness; she was five years younger than Merlo and unlike him had no conformed Guardians, which was why she was second rather than first despite being Active and well-placed in Vongola Supply.

Number three was Xanxus; oh the irony. He was a Sky, was the great-grandson of Settimo's youngest legitimate sibling, had a good reputation and strong Guardians; he also hadn't sworn any oaths eschewing the Vongola, which Bronco had.

Fourth candidate was Nepa Superbi, a Sky he'd not known about –also Latent– who managed to be the great-granddaughter of Ottava's older brother via the infamous Mantide Superbi, a descendent of Merla Superbi's sister Nottola _and_ be directly descended from Primo's younger sister via the Diadone.

After those four strong candidates came a bevy of Alliata –less desirable due to not being interested in leadership– one Forno –another descendant of Sesto's many bastards– a Lanza and another two Superbi, who were low of the list due to 'lacking the inclination for leadership.' All Skies, since only Skies were in the running; also all women bar two-thirds of the Alliata, who as a Family ran to boys.

Squalo had not known that Quinto Vongola had grandchildren; he'd thought the man's only kids were the two sons who'd killed each-other over the Vongola Rings. Which in retrospect was a Stupid assumption, because contraceptives hadn't been remotely reliable back then and other family planning methods weren't foolproof either; of course he'd had more kids than that. He'd died two years after his two oldest sons –reportedly of a broken heart– but the tree showed six more kids making it to puberty: five daughters and another son, all with Superbi names.

Which made perfect sense when Duate's wife Onza had clearly gone home to her family after her husband died and taken her surviving children with her; something she'd got away with because the Alliance was distracted by Simora being Don Vongola by then and _his_ sons competing to inherit after him.

If Squalo had been going to put money on any particular candidate, he would personally pick Giorgia: she was the closest in blood to the current leadership as daughter to an acknowledged –if dead– Heir, her lineage was an open secret so not in doubt and easily proven through non-Mist means, she was ambitious, she was cunning and she wasn't a Superbi, so wouldn't automatically antagonise Don Scarlatti. Her being apparently open to accept Guardians would also get everybody behind her, with all the Dons wanting their relatives to be accepted into her inner circle.

The Visconti Family were fairly retiring in terms of political influence in the Alliance –they were more interested in running their various businesses and being left alone to do Cloud-things– so Giorgia would go down relatively well with the other Dons in that respect as well. Her being a woman could be problematic, but Ottava had been a woman too so Giorgia really just had to make a strong impression. Preferably while picking up a decently politic range of bonded.

His sister's associated notes were fairly complicated in places, but the gist was she'd got ridiculously good at Mist blood-tests, invented a few new and more accurate ones for determining ancestors up to seven generations removed, dug up a whole load of forgotten and likely deliberately buried Vongola family history and found absolutely _everybody_ descended from Primo and Secondo's parents, living or dead.

Squalo was going to send her money for this; it was an order of magnitude better than the various trees the Varia had come up with while bored and massively more coherent. It also made him rather apprehensive about those books she'd sent him, as whatever they contained had to be _highly_ incriminating.

Like the rest of the paperwork in the folder wasn't; oh look, Nono Vongola had more grandkids then Federico's two known oops. Great-grandkids even; mostly civvie, but still. Only Massimo had managed not to sire any bastards and that was more out of lack of inclination than any virtue on his part.

Chew Toy _was_ on the tree, but he was off to one side and not involved in the tangled thicket that was Alliance intermarriage practices despite his grandfather having married an Alliata; the specific Alliata Ietsuna Sawada had married was descended from one of Primo's older sisters –and therefore his own third cousin– and managed not to have any connection by blood to Secondo's side of the family at all. Oh, there was a legal connection –Iemitsu's mother and Nono's wife had been sisters– but that was fairly feeble compared to the other blood ties on offer elsewhere.

Never mind that Primo had _left_.

He wasn't going to show this to Xanxus just yet; Squalo wanted to read the books first. Which meant getting Sicilian shoved into his brain; he was going to have a migraine for half the week but hopefully it would be over by his birthday. Wait, he should ask Oversight rather than Kuchisake; they were better at implanting languages, so he might escape with just a low-level headache for a day or two.

Where had Iemitsu gone though? More to the point, _why_ was he 'missing'? The narcissist was far too wrapped up in how being External Advisor made him 'important' –no make that 'vital to the Vongola'– to drop off the radar unexpectedly.

Likely signs pointed to 'dead,' in which case Squalo was very deliberately _not_ going to ask whether anybody currently under his Sky's authority had done a spot of recreational murder. Maybe in six months' time when the dust had settled, but not right now.

Right now it was best to let things slide.

* * *

Along with the respectable mountain of care packages from variously close relatives, Guigna had also brought the birthday present for the shark that he'd arranged through Ornata. It wasn't wrapped or anything; just a plain cardboard box with a bottle-rack-like insert to keep the stoneware tea bowls from rattling around, each item loosely wrapped in newspaper in its slot, with the teapot in a separate box. There was also an envelope containing a certificate with an item listing, offering a very clear disclaimer that despite _looking_ original complete with historical maker's marks, the six bowls –he'd only asked for four but clearly they'd decided to throw in some extras– and teapot were modern replicas and the company would _not_ be liable for any misunderstandings concerning their historicity.

Xanxus had of course opened the boxes and looked the gifts over; the glaze on the teapot was slightly rough to the touch, which he found unpleasant, but it looked very beautiful: pale turquoise densely speckled with both darker blue and reddish purple, the purple being most prominent on the front of the teapot around the spout and the rather square vertical handle, but much sparser around the back with only the top of the little lid being entirely purple.

The glaze on the tea bowls was completely smooth, making them more pleasant to handle, and their colouring varied from entirely red-purple save for a small area around the foot of the cup through a jaggedly striped effect of purple on deep blue to a mottled turquoise with a more indigo asymmetric splatter on both inside and outside with a few red spots. Evidently taken from several different batches, but all the same glaze style regardless.

He was looking forward to watching Squalo unpack them, to be honest. It was bound to be funny when they were very _obviously_ intended to be Jun ware, maker's mark and all. He'd start with the cups then keep the teapot until last; the teapot was _definitely_ the gag gift of the set, being blatantly anachronistic.

He was sure Aunt Ornata's business would see an uptick in commissions once various other ex-Varia found out they could order well-made fakes of various period ceramics for everyday use; a good number of assassins had been very reluctant to let Mammon appraise and sell certain looted items. Xanxus privately agreed that ceramics were for using, not displaying, no matter how old they were; what was the point of owning pretty things if you didn't use them? Either it would break or you would die, and then you'd not got to enjoy it while you had it.

Hell, Xanxus was tempted to commission something for Florrie; she would appreciate the beauty of the piece while actually making use of it. Yaozhou-style celadon would probably go down best for stoneware, with the carved design under the glaze adding interest.

That was for later though; first he had a shark to surprise.

* * *

Squalo's birthday started with a neat heap of gifts from various other assassins that had accumulated in his living room before dawn, swamping his coffee table, surrounding the armchair and making him double-take when he stumbled out of his bedroom for a glass of water. The day meandered slowly on from there; everybody no longer being technically Varia did not mean that they'd decided to abandon all of the Varia's traditions. Or any of the traditions, in fact: Squalo got a special breakfast delivered to his apartment at nine, which was crashed by his Sky and fellow Guardians, all of them ignoring the literal mountain of presents entirely.

He'd open those later; the gifts he actually cared about had been brought by his uninvited breakfast guests.

Mammon had acquired some better accounting software for him to use and was generously not charging him for it, Luss had got him some new silk shirts, Bel had bought him an entire tuna that was currently in stasis in Housekeeping's freezer –he was going to _enjoy_ eating that– and Florrie wasn't with them of course, but she had sent him two cards and a patchwork cushion cover with sharks on. Lingering Flame-traces made it clear she'd sewn it herself, making it a better class of gag gift than most people bothered with, and the colours were subtle and tasteful enough that Squalo was prepared to let it slide this once. He'd have to make sure she knew how he felt about shark-themed decorative items in future though.

Then when he'd finished unwrapping everything in sight Xanxus had produced a cardboard box from somewhere, set it on his lap, opened it and handed him something loosely wrapped in newsprint.

Squalo swiftly unwrapped it and then stared, cautiously turning the gift over in his hands before setting it gingerly on the table. This… it _couldn't_ be what it looked like, could it?

"Is that Jun ware?" Mammon asked keenly, pushing their plate aside and leaning over the table to eye the tea bowl at close range.

Their Sky just smirked infuriatingly and handed Squalo another loosely-wrapped something.

Another tea bowl. Also looking suspiciously like genuine twelfth-century Jun ware. "How much did you _spend_?"

Eyes dancing, Xanxus handed him another one; the glaze was differently-patterned on each bowl, making the case for Jun ware even more likely: the glaze's distinctive turquoise, indigo and purple-red colouring was related to how the metal oxides in the glazes reacted to a reducing atmosphere in the kiln, which could vary greatly in a single firing. Except that these kinds of antique ceramics cost silly money, so were only bought by collectors with more money than sense and occasionally museums.

The next one was Jun tea bowl number four and Squalo was starting to wonder if being stuck on the couch for a fortnight had driven his Sky insane, because there was extravagant and then there was fucking _stupid_. Then Xanxus handed him a fifth one and he snapped.

"Vooi! What blatant bullshittery did you pull _this_ time?!" Had he stolen these from somewhere? Commissioned Maínomai to rob a few museums?!

His Sky snickered, handing him a sixth one. Squalo made a frustrated noise in his throat, gently set the bowl on the table next to the other five –which Mammon was still poking at cautiously– then got to his feet and shook his fist.

"VOOOOOOIII! SHITTY BOSS!"

Shaking with barely-suppressed laughter, his Sky set the empty box aside and produced another, slightly squarer box which he carefully set on the table, then pushed towards him. Squalo eyeballed it warily –his shitty teasing asshole Sky _sniggered_ at him– then opened it, pushing the packing paper aside.

It was a teapot. An apparently-Jun teapot, except that teapots hadn't even been _invented_ until the thirteenth century!

"Are these _fakes_?" He demanded, turning the teapot carefully in his hands. This one had the faint roughness in the glaze characteristic of slightly lower-quality Jun ware, but it could equally be high-end eighteenth century Shiwan ware imitating Jun glazes. The shape and style of the teapot _was_ right for Shiwan ware…

Xanxus _roared_ with laughter, bright and loud and uninhibited as he pushed an envelope across the table then had to catch himself so he didn't fall out of his chair. Squalo carefully set the teapot down and reached for the envelope, but Mammon snatched it up first.

"Voi, give me that!"

The pint-sized miser floated out of reach, flicked open the envelope –it wasn't sealed– and pulled out the thick-looking sheet of paper inside as off to one side their Sky went on laughing, slapping his fist on his good knee as he rocked back and forth and made everything rattle.

"They are authentic replicas made through traditional processes," the Mist said over the loud sounds of Xanxus's amusement, handing over the pages with a faint aura of both disappointment and relief. Squalo snatched them out of the miser's hands –it was a certification on fancy paper– scanned them quickly and heaved a sigh of relief; _not_ worth hundreds of thousands of euros then. Hand thrown, wood-fired and extremely high quality stoneware with a very beautiful and finicky glaze, but _not_ eight-hundred years old. Barely three months old, in fact.

"You are an evil-minded dick with a shitty sense of humour and far too much time on your hands," Squalo informed his Sky sourly as he set the certificate on the table; the man _cackled_ at him, grin threatening to split his face in half. Nice to know somebody was having fun; Squalo had nearly had a heart attack!

"Your fucking _face_ ," the asshole wheezed, bending double over his knees as of to one side Luss tittered behind a hand.

"You are _so_ lucky you have a broken leg right now, you inveterate shit-stirrer!"

"Shishishi, tea?" Bel asked, grin wide.

"Go piss up a rope, the lot of you," Squalo snarled, embarrassment warring with reluctant amusement as he reached for the hilt of his sword. "All of you OUT!"

Once they'd all gone –Xanxus still sniggering and leaning heavily on Luss– Squalo locked his front door, went back into the kitchen, sat down heavily and stared at his ridiculous new tea set for several minutes. Then he got up, put the kettle on and made himself tea in it; if his Sky was going to give him impossibly convincing counterfeit crockery then by God he was going to _use_ it.

If only so as to meanly enjoy himself as any moderately-well-informed guests had heart-attacks and act like he had no idea why they were getting so worked up.

* * *

Being more or less couch-bound meant Xanxus had plenty of time to work on tedious but necessary things, but it also meant time for fun but repetitive things, with the added bonus that he could rope other people into helping him. In this instance, that meant Harmony experiments on a range of volunteers with a Mist and a member of Medical on standby in case something went horribly wrong.

Today the Mist was Vahn, who was also a member of Medical so Xanxus didn't need to find anybody else to help out. Vahn was even taking notes, which meant two sets of observations and made the experiments hopefully more repeatable.

The experiment in itself was very straightforward: Xanxus used Harmony to 'push' the volunteer through his living room floor into his workshop, where Vahn was. The volunteer then came back up the stairs –and got dressed if they'd left some or all of their clothes behind– described the experience and then let Xanxus do it again.

It was proving very popular, despite –or perhaps because of– the difficulty the Sky was having in including clothing in the process. Xanxus suspected the Varia uniform being treated to be Flame-resistant was what was hindering him there, but that didn't mean what he was trying to achieve was _impossible_ ; it just meant it was challenging.

There had been a bit of fussing from Luss over the possibility of people breaking bones after they fell, but what actually happened was that people falling through the living room floor tended to end up waist-deep in the floor of his workshop, which they then needed to be hauled out of. Lingering Harmony meant the ground registered as 'viscous' rather than 'insubstantial' and other people still registered as solid because Xanxus was specifically trying to enable walking through _walls_ , so there had been no injuries so far.

A truly disturbing degree of giggling from certain quarters –Kuchisake and Raas for instance– but no injuries.

Today he was testing his 'Flame-treated clothing is the issue' hypothesis so his volunteers had shown up in non-treated clothing, which was an amusing hodgepodge of old disguises and random comfy indoor wear, because professionally speaking it was sensible to treat _all_ your clothes if you possibly could, but the process was expensive and synthetic fabrics _couldn't_ be treated, so what wasn't treated tended to be things an assassin didn't like wearing much, had only worn once then forgotten about or something made partially or entirely of plastic.

So far Xanxus had seen fleecy pyjamas, a range of synthetic knitwear, a pleather miniskirt, a lot of cheap and badly-made fashion in a range of poor fits and terrible colours, a selection of printed t-shirts –the cotton could be treated but the plastic transfer would melt so there was no point– occasional fluffy slippers and very little underwear; underwear was something you _needed_ to Flame-treat _consistently_ because the alternatives were acutely painful and universally unpleasant. Not always immediately, but under a uniform that was mostly leather, chafing was very much a concern.

On the upside, most everybody's clothing had stayed on rather than getting left behind. That was confirmation of his hypothesis and a sign that Flame-resistant clothing _was_ the problem. Leaning heavily on the Harmony aspect had also meant he hadn't accidentally melted anybody's clothing to their skin, which was a relief. He'd been a bit worried about that possibility.

"So when are you planning on applying this in the field, Boss?"

Xanxus side-eyed the former Cloud GM over his notes. "When I can get it to work consistently." Obviously.

"Shouldn't we be trying it out on walls made of different materials then, Boss?"

The Sky eyeballed the Pack Leader, who had the gall to look innocent and virtuous. "Go get me a wooden wall, trash." He'd have to find brick walls later, once his leg was better; the Stables –as his men were calling it now– was all reinforced concrete rather than stone like Varia headquarters had been.

"Yes Boss!" Varg hurried off, his Squad in tow. Xanxus wondered whether they'd bother to change or even put boots on before heading out of the building and snickered at the mental image that conjured; hopefully somebody would take pictures.

* * *

Xanxus was on the couch in the lounge a few days later, reading another lightweight novel, when Squalo stormed in, soaking wet and utterly furious.

"VOOOOII! Some third-rate cheapskate _hack_ just tried to _assassinate_ me!"

Shark sounded more offended by the amateurish nature of the attempt than that it had happened at all; Xanxus understood that sentiment perfectly. They were professional killers; sending somebody not even _slightly_ on their level to try and murder them was an insult to their skill. They'd been Varia, for heaven's sake; their enemies could at least hire somebody _promising_.

"Tried to snipe me in the _rain_ ," his Rain Guardian seethed, yanking his coat off and tossing it against the wall, "in the fucking _rain_ , like I wouldn't _see_ him! Fucking useless two-bit provincial _hitman_ ; next time they'd better hire somebody with some actual _class_."

"Next time, Captain?" Metronome asked, glancing up from her book as around the far coffee table Hadry, Howitzer, Trina, Miko, Schön and Micia's Flames all sharpened slightly. The ex-Varia Ladies reading group had taken to joining him in this particular common room on Saturdays, which Xanxus didn't mind since they were quiet and were all happy to spoil Bester should he show an interest in them. Some of them liked to bring treats for the liger, which ensured he'd let them make a fuss of him.

"Made him tell me who sent him after Alo bit his arms off," the former Rain Officer said, satisfaction mingling with annoyance; "was that snivelling short-sighted brown-noser Egidio Petroforte. Don Vongola's clearly been complaining about us long and loud enough for the suck-ups to forget their place and think they can curry favour by removing us from the picture." Shark looked angry enough to spit, gesturing sharply as he spoke. "Like he could ever _dream_ of getting over his ass-backwards prejudices for long enough to recognise competence if it bit him in the bum; the arrogant dickwad has a better chance of making it to the moon in a rocket ship propelled by his own fart-brained douchebaggery!"

Wow, shark was in fine form today.

"Don Vongola's control over his underbosses is slipping to the point they think they can send assassins after _us_?" Micia demanded, eyes flashing violet. "When we are officially part of the Cavallone? Excuse me Boss; I think I need to call my uncle for a _talk_."

Micia was a Rocca, despite being only very vaguely related to the Don she called 'uncle'; this was going to be fun to watch from the very safe distance afforded by being out in the middle of the Indian Ocean, more than two-hundred kilometres from the Seychelles. "Knock yourself out."

The Leader of Problem Squad stormed out of the room, Flames crackling around her.

"Think there'll be more, Boss?" Miko asked, tone all idle curiosity.

"Sure." If the old fart was too distracted by Iemitsu being 'missing' –read discreetly dead and no he wasn't going to ask his people which of them had given him the best late Christmas present _ever_ – to realise what his underbosses were getting up to then it was going to keep happening. It wasn't like Chew Toy would notice, after all.

"I'll put it on the notice boards then," Howitzer said lightly, tone at odds with the muted roiling of her Flames, "so that everybody knows to keep an eye out."

"I'll set up a scoreboard," Hadry said, smile bright and hard. "Extra points for the messier and more interesting deaths."

"Vooi, it's not worth it for pest control," Squalo grouched, finally dropping into an armchair and leaning forwards to wring out his hair.

"Extra points for making it look like a tragic accident then," Hadry corrected easily. "I'm sure shark attacks on rooftops can't be that rare this close to the sea; there must have been a freak wave."

Xanxus snorted; yeah maybe. Still, this was an extra annoyance he unfortunately couldn't do anything about. Not that it really registered as a threat; his men were more likely to murder each-other –deliberately or otherwise– than to get picked off by an outsider. They were Quality; the rest of the Underworld didn't really compare.

"I'll let Prince the Ripper know," Trina said, eyes dropping back to her book. "I'm sure he'll be delighted by the opportunity to set up Patrols again."

More like delighted at the opportunity to terrorise people into doing his bidding and get away with committing messy murder, but yeah Bel would. Well that was that problem sorted.

Xanxus went back to his book; he wanted to find out what kind of idiotic disaster the protagonist's fiancé was going to commit while wilfully in denial of his evident lustful feelings for his long-time rival's cross-dressing older sister, whose lesbian subtext was blatant to the point of almost being text. Maybe he'd manage to sufficiently alienate the hot-tempered protagonist Carmine Caruso that she ran off with Miss Gun-Toting Lesbian? If so, that would be very amusing.

* * *

Xanxus had made time to spend the week before Easter with Florrie, which was slightly complicated by him still having his lower leg in a brace –Luss said another fortnight although he was at least allowed to put his weight on it now– so he couldn't drive. As a result he spent the first two days of Florrie's holiday sitting around her flat or watching her garden. Yes it was peaceful, but it wasn't as much fun as joining in was and he felt like a burden just sitting around and not helping her with the laundry. Yes, he could walk fine but laundry involved a lot of up and down and he'd had Bester accidentally knock him over at the beginning of the month, which had prolonged his recovery. Gardening –weeding specifically– meant kneeling, and he couldn't do that either. So he had to sit and watch and be useless.

His friend's initial response to his fidgety restlessness was to give him a pile of books and have him help her identify the various diseases afflicting certain of the vegetables and fruit trees, as well as determining what species of moth or butterfly the various caterpillars were going to turn into. That was at least interesting and helpful and let him walk around; being given a pile of jackets and shirts with loose or ripped-off buttons the following morning was less interesting, but it wasn't like he had anything else to do and sewing buttons back on wasn't exactly _hard_. Just tedious.

Xanxus sewed all the buttons back on and strengthened a few loose seams, then found three chipped pieces of crockery sitting in the top cupboard, located the superglue and fixed those too while he was at it. Then he dusted all the shelves and the picture rails with Flames, changed two tap washers –they were just starting to drip– and watered all the house plants.

Florrie arrived back from her shopping with plenty of food and a stack of slightly battered books, some of which could easily have been fourth- or fifth-hand. "Okay, since you're kind of stuck and _obviously_ bored I thought I should find things you could do," she said, laying out the books on the dining table. Xanxus glanced across the titles; wood-carving, preserving, cheese-making –he'd never tried that– a proper big sketchpad and a box of watercolour pencils along with a book on anatomy and figure drawing, origami –not the book he'd given her but a great big hardback– stencils, ceramics, embroidery and flower-pressing.

Plus something calling itself a 'quilling kit' and the complete works of Shakespeare, for variety.

"Did all kinds as a kid, didn't you?" Because these books had faded spines with slightly wavy-edged pages, saying they'd been read again and again and sat on a bookshelf in the sun for years on end in between being read.

"I was easily bored," Florrie admitted with aplomb, "but pick _anything_ , seriously. I nearly didn't bring the ceramics book but then I remembered your annealing oven downstairs was big enough and got hot enough to fire pots in, so you've got more options than you think you do. I mean, you could probably do metalwork too and I could carry a chair down there for you to sit on; I don't have any books on that though."

He'd forgotten he had a workshop here; that had been Dumb of him. "Like to try the cheese-making," he admitted, "and maybe sketch you." It was a while since he'd done any drawing that wasn't technical diagrams and it would pass the time. He also wanted to investigate the kit, because he'd never even _heard_ of quilling.

Florrie beamed and bent down to kiss his hair. "I bought full-fat milk," she admitted, "and I've got muslin. All sorts of fresh herbs in the garden too, so have fun. I've got an essay to write that I want out of the way before Easter, so I'm going to be doing that with my headphones on, but if you want something that's not in the house I don't mind going shopping."

That was very generous of her really. "Thank you," he said, leaning up and tugging her down again so he could kiss her on the cheek. "Love you. Will have fun."

Her relived smile said she'd been picking up on his stir-crazy more than she'd let on; he'd been really lucky she'd not snapped at him if he'd been that transparent. Clouds didn't like being fussed at.

"Can cook," he added; "just have to use Flames to do the heavy lifting." He could practice his Mist-work some more. "Get the essay over with."

"I'll get out the lunch things out and we can eat, then I will get stuck into the essay," Florrie said easily, lightly flicking the thin chain of the crucifix necklace he was wearing; it was technically hers –a baptism gift– but she'd had Mammon fiddle with it back in the New Year so it held her Flames exclusively and then lent it to him to help with the nightmares. It did help, even when he wasn't wearing it.

"I can wash up." It wasn't like it was hard and he could stand okay.

* * *

By day five Xanxus had made six types of cheese –he'd possibly got a little carried away there– discovered that quilling was a kind of paper-crafting that appealed to the same parts of his mind that enjoyed the precision of watch-making, brewed nettle beer –unexpectedly tasty– made sugared violets and applied the same process to a range of other edible flowers and leaves from his Cloud's garden, made half-a-dozen engraved silver teaspoons just to prove he could and succeeded in persuading his friend to let him draw her both barely-dressed and completely naked.

He wasn't entirely sure _why_ he'd done that now, or why she'd gone along with it, but it had happened and he had a dozen colour pencil and watercolour-ish drawings of her in various poses on the carpet of the common room across from her flat to prove it. He also wasn't sure what to do with them now he had them, so they were hidden behind his other sketches of still-lives and various designs for the quilling and the teaspoons.

He was sat at the dining table doing more quilling and idly planning a decorative silver picture frame for horse, or possibly different ones for various aunts that used the same principles but in metal, when the house Wards notified him of something potentially awkward outside: Visconti.

What a moment for the Vongola to locate his Cloud...

"Florrie?"

His friend glanced up from where she was curled up on the couch with a book. "Hm?"

"Company." He nodded at the window. Florrie glanced out through the net curtains and frowned.

"Are they going to ring on the doorbell?"

"No idea," Xanxus admitted. Visconti was good enough to notice the Wards, especially since he didn't mean any harm to either Xanxus or anybody else in the building –clever old man– and it wasn't like the Flame-traces around the property were _remotely_ subtle so the Guardian would know he was here.

Well, would know he'd _been_ here recently; Sky Flames were slow enough to fade that it was hard to differentiate between current and merely recent traces. The Wards also obscured matters; Visconti would only be able to tell that he'd been here at some point in the past week and had been heavily involved in setting up the property's defences well before that. Not which part of the building he was frequenting, thankfully; the Wards blurred that entirely.

"Then I am going to ignore them until they do."

That was very Cloudy and also amusingly subversive: Visconti would expect to be noticed and have the door opened, because Underworld people wouldn't let a bunch of men in suits stand around in the street and front garden, it was conspicuous. However forcing Visconti to ring the doorbell turned him into a petitioner and uninvited visitor rather than a welcomed guest, which reversed the power-play of showing up out of the blue in the first place.

Also the house had several doorbells and it wasn't immediately clear which one was the correct one; Visconti would know that there was at least one civilian living here and wouldn't want to mistakenly pull anybody into Underworld drama, so was in fact unlikely to try ringing at all. After all, Underworld etiquette said that if you were a Flame-user and another Flame-user you knew showed up on the doorstep of your apartment block, you let them in before anybody noticed something amiss.

Except this wasn't his house and Florrie wasn't Underworld. Or even Active.

Lips twitching, Xanxus went back to his quilling. He was enjoying this particular craft and having fun thinking up less flowery designs, so he might turn this project into a gift if it worked out the way he wanted it to.

* * *

Two hours later Visconti and his men were _still_ in the front garden. Xanxus had turned off his phone so the Cloud Guardian couldn't call him for clarification –he still had the same number and didn't trust the sneaky old spy not to have dug it up from somewhere– and taken his time creating some paper designs he liked and wanted to replicate in beaten silver wire later. Florrie meanwhile had put her book down, gone to the toilet and was now boiling the kettle for tea.

Xanxus watched his Cloud glance out of the windows again as she measured loose tea into the tea ball, faint stiffness in her shoulders betraying her discomfort. She wasn't going to open the door –this was her _Territory_ and they were _unwelcome_ – but it was getting increasingly clear that she wanted them _gone_. They weren't following The Rules and it was wearing on her, for all that it wasn't provoking her into violence. Just increased unease and a slightly abrasive edge on her Flames.

Closing the tea ball and dropping it in the pot, his friend sealed the tea packet and abruptly huffed loudly. "Xanxus, go lurk in the bedroom, please."

Seriously?

Florrie glared irritably at him, Latent Flames snapping like a flag in a stiff breeze; Xanxus capped the glue pot, levered himself upright and shuffled out of the kitchen.

Having the hallway door all-but-slammed behind him was a bit much. What had he done to deserve _that_ , seriously? Turning around, Xanxus leaned his weight against the wall on the side furthest from the hinges –making discovery less likely– and called on his Flames to sharpen his hearing.

A loud, irritable sigh; slippered feet on tile and the rustle and thud of dropping on one knee; the slide and creak of a cupboard door opening; the hiss and rustle of a paperback being leafed through.

Another creak and thump –the door closing– and the faint scrape of something hard moving across wood; another, softer sigh; another rustle of fabric and a faint bump. The electronic peeping of a phone number being dialled –a fairly complex one– followed by a pause.

Xanxus waited.

"Hello, police?"

What. Florrie was calling the _police_? But… but!

"–outside my house and in my front garden for two hours now and I live alone; I'm not comfortable opening my front door and telling eight adult men in black suits to go away. Can you please send a couple of officers around to tell them to move on? They've parked blocking my front drive and garden gate and they're technically trespassing, since three of them are loitering on the property as we speak."

Xanxus carefully lifted a hand to cover his mouth and did his best not to snicker as his Cloud recited her address; this was _glorious_. He _had_ to memorise this for posterity.

"No, I do _not_ know who they are. They haven't knocked at the door or rung the bell; yes, this house is set up for multiple residences but I'm currently the only occupier. Eight of them; seven in their twenties and thirties and one who looks seventy if he's a day. All in black suits and smart shoes and the old guy is wearing a fancy purple tie." A rustle of fabric, a creak and slow footsteps on parquet. "He's standing right outside the front door now, looking up at the windows. I've got net curtains so he can't see me; he's got silvery grey hair and he's wearing a really large and elaborate ring on his right hand; it looks like a purple shield." A pause. "Yes I can hold."

Xanxus would bet his boots that she was being transferred to whoever was locally responsible for dealing with organised crime. Well this would be fun. He waited as Florrie gave her name and address again, then gave a bunch of confirmations to what the person on the other end of the line was saying.

"Yes, eight people. Two of them are sitting in the cars they arrived in. Black cars, fairly new-looking? I don't know makes and the angle isn't good. Rear windows are tinted and one of them is left-hand drive. Right, one of them is sitting on the garden wall to the left of the front gate; wavy dark brown hair and I think an earpiece? It's hard to tell with the hair. He keeps fiddling with his phone and crossing and uncrossing his legs. Looks vaguely European; they all do. Another one walking up and down the pavement in front of the house, but slow and leisurely-like; he's got very dark purplish-red hair that you could probably call wine-coloured if you were feeling poetic. Third outside one is leaning against the little pillar next to the drive, flipping a bit of metal around. He's got spiky black hair that's too stiff to not be gelled and a really strong nose; aquiline, I think it's called? Bent in the middle but not squashed like it's been broken." A pause. "I don't know, maybe? It's metal and shiny and catches the light; long, thin and rectangular."

If one of them _was_ playing with a knife in public then they _deserved_ to get in trouble with the police. Never mind that their loitering for so very long meant they had it coming regardless; had they not even bothered to set up some surreptitious surveillance? With a university so close by it would have been cake for most of them to blend in regular street wear, although Visconti's age would have made him slightly more conspicuous.

Seriously though, suits? For _two hours_? In a residential student area?

"Okay. Yes. Yes. Two hours, I think? That's when I first noticed them anyway. No, never. A bit over two years; I'm a student at the university. Okay. Thank you."

There was a peep from the phone as she hung up; Xanxus pushed himself off the wall and continued carefully down the hall into her bedroom, reaching for the Wards as he did so. He could actually listen in –and see– what was going on out the front of the house if he did this…

* * *

"Is he even in?" That was the redhead, who was acting like a Field Leader despite being younger than over half the rest of the team. He was at least asking questions, if well over an hour too late; Visconti had likely taken command of the operation so respect for the Cloud Guardian's judgement and position had kept the younger man quiet until now. He and the drivers –well at least the one in the right-hand drive car– were likely planted in this country by the Vongola at least a year or two back if they weren't local recruits. They didn't _look_ local, but they could easily be the children of Sicilian immigrants. Visconti wouldn't have travelled here alone but who else out there answered directly to the Cloud Guardian? The older man with the widow's peak was definitely Visconti's… the idiot with the knife might be too, since Xanxus hadn't seen that hairstyle on any of the locals despite it being very popular in Sicily for the past five years or so.

"It's six o'clock in the evening and our contacts on Mafia Land say he's been seen wearing a leg brace, so if he's not in it's because he's been driven out somewhere. In which case he should be back soon; he's unlikely to be comfortable visiting a restaurant while injured." Visconti knew him far too well. But trying to wait him out? That was a bit tone deaf. A sound strategy in Sicily or most of southern Europe admittedly –assuming no prepared escape routes– but less so in Britain. In Italy a group of men in suits screamed 'organised crime, look away' because most apartments only had one access door and you didn't want to be caught up in that kind of mess, especially not when you might get cornered with no way out save the windows… when you were three or more floors up.

However in places where law enforcement was less obviously corrupt, the suits still screamed 'organised crime' but witnesses were less apprehensive of having their personal information sold to the mafia later in the afternoon by whoever at the local police station was on the take.

"If he's in, why hasn't he answered the door yet?" asked the curly-headed blond by the gate between the garage and the house, who had been cloud-gazing.

"He's asleep? He's ignoring us?" The redhead shrugged, walking up the drive towards Visconti. "This is a civvie area and we can't exactly just walk in, not with all that security. Trying to diffuse it would trigger it and it'd eat us alive."

Redhead was smart. Likely more than just Field Leader; local commander? Visconti's 2IC for Intelligence? No, too low on the pole for the latter; maybe the local commander's second at most, being groomed for authority but no real power yet. If he was higher up he'd be more confident in his opinions and would have spoken up sooner. The pacing was just a manifestation of his agitation, although his staying outside the property lines until now indicated a certain awareness of local culture.

"Police," the brunet with the shiv said abruptly, the blade vanishing into his jacket as he straightened up. All six men immediately moved back towards the cars, only to stop as police cars rounded both ends of the street and stopped, blocking the road entirely as the two-man patrol continued towards the house.

"Think one of the neighbours complained?" Redhead asked quietly. He was confident but also audibly annoyed; definitely higher up than anybody else out there bar Visconti, although Visconti's people likely had more pull with the Cloud Guardian by dint of him knowing and trusting them.

"Evening, gents." That was the older policeman, who looked cool as a cucumber but was definitely wearing a stab-proof vest and likely had his radio recording the encounter too. As would his partner, who was enormous and probably _not_ usually involved in community policing. Then again, Visconti might not notice that nuance; Italy did policing very differently to Britain after all. The Vongola Cloud Guardian certainly hadn't even _thought_ about the suit issue; the various Varia uniforms might more frequently have fallen somewhere between biker-punk and leather street fashion then been remotely acceptable formalwear but at least they didn't look like they'd stepped out of a mafia movie. They may have been professional underworld assassins but they'd still blended a hell of a lot better than the formal suits and swanky cars ever would.

Settling himself more comfortably on the bed, Xanxus sat back to enjoy the rest of the show.

* * *

"You can't just stop _there_! Tell the Prince what happened next!"

Xanxus took his time sipping his tequila, the hand not holding the glass buried in Bester's mane. Luss was leaning back in an armchair with the back of one hand pressed to his lips, shoulders shaking with barely-suppressed mirth, Mammon was cross-legged on a footstool radiating smug vindication, Bel was bouncing impatiently on the loveseat and Squalo was sprawled on his side in front of the armchair he'd toppled out of halfway through the retelling, still cackling helplessly.

"Well," Xanxus drawled, "The policeman charged them with aggravated trespass, which is a criminal offence in Britain, and for which a constable in uniform may arrest a person without a warrant if he has reasonable suspicion that such an offence is being committed. Which, seeing as they had an eyewitness, he did." There was an alarming wheeze from the shark; Xanxus glanced down at him before continuing:

"And seeing as Patience reported the possibility of a knife, the newly-arrived officers who had parked their cars across the street in both directions had been granted permission from the local police inspector for stop and search, so everybody was patted down and the vehicles were extensively searched. Which turned up several more knives, so that was placed as an additional charge since it's illegal to carry a knife in a public place, which the street counts as." He sipped his drink again, thoroughly enjoying the glee resonating in the Flames around him. "Seeing however as they were trespassing and had been armed with several offensive weapons, the police decided to add assault charges to those individuals who had been armed." He paused for effect. "The two drivers were also arrested for obstructing a public right of way." Since they'd been blocking Florrie's driveway.

Luss collapsed into giggles and on the floor Squalo shook in near-silence.

"The police then loaded all eight men into cars and took them away," Xanxus went on, "While two trucks showed up with more police to tow away the vehicles and other patrol officers started going door to door for statements. Two of them eventually made it to Patience's front door: they walked up the steps, eyed the doorbells and the lead one touched his radio to ask what the name of the person making the report had been."

There were eight doorbells on the front of Florrie's house; only five of them worked and the order of names in no way corresponded with the relative location of the bells. Xanxus had taken care to label four of the buttons with spurious names that Florrie's surname blended in with, making it that much harder to guess which button to press.

"Having had Patience's surname repeated, he pressed the correct doorbell and she came out of her flat to let them in the main door of the house," Xanxus continued, "but she didn't let them _into_ her flat; rather she left the door ajar behind her and stood in the hall with her mug of tea and answered their questions there." He sipped his tequila again. "First they asked the same questions the phone dispatch officer had, then moved onto new ones. Had she felt afraid to leave the house? Yes, well that was a false imprisonment charge on top of everything else."

Squalo wheezed thinly into the carpet, clutching at his ribs and trembling.

"Could she tell them anything about the trespassers? No, she had no idea who they were, which was even the truth because she hadn't asked me." Bel slumped sideways, sniggering.

"Might they have been waiting for one of the other residents? No, because she was currently the only resident and the only other previous residents had left in November. No, she didn't know who they'd been; they'd been subletting, she suspected. Yes, the basement _was_ rented but as storage space and belonged to a couple of businesses. No, she'd not seen anybody from either of them recently; they generally used the side gate and went in the back door that led directly to the basement." Xanxus smirked. "They were very considerate and respectful; one of them even lent her a hankie when she started crying from the strain." Which had been unpleasant to hear, but there'd been a bright thread in her Flames that made it clear she was deliberately weaponising her very real distress.

"Xanxus meanwhile had already informed Information of what was underway," Mammon chimed in, "so they were peeking into the police systems as this was ongoing. Visconti and his men spent twenty-four hours in custody, at the end of which they were all charged. Evidence was clear, the offences were well-defined and they had been caught in the act; they were not however released on bail, as two of their passports had turned up fraudulent in the interval so the police declared there to be a 'difficulty to ascertain a real name and address' for the entire party. They will therefore remain in custody until their appearance in the Magistrate's Court in the last week of May, with additional charges potentially being levelled for possession of fraudulent identity documentation, depending on the outcome of the related investigation, and potential firearm charges depending on the fingerprinting of the weapons found in the bodywork of the cars."

Squalo moaned, eyes closed and cheek pressed into the carpet as he panted. "Fuck, my ribs."

"So Don Vongola will be without his Cloud until late May," Bel mused, twirling a knife between his fingers.

"May twenty-fifth at the earliest," Mammon specified; "the police also confiscated his Guardian ring and didn't give it back, so it's likely their organised crime division is trying to dig up something and pin it on him in the meantime. It's probable that the younger men will be tried first, then Visconti will have everything they possibly can thrown at him since he was the primary instigator and policemen frequently have good enough instincts to recognise a predator in their midst. They _know_ he's organised crime; they will do their best to convict him of something no matter how petty." The Mist paused. "Including trivial traffic violations and the ever-nebulous 'disturbing the peace'."

"All because the old fart tried to hunt down my Cloud," Xanxus agreed mildly, finishing his drink. Vengeance was sweet and he hadn't needed to lift a finger; Florrie had acted exactly as a good law-abiding civilian should and it had been _beautiful._

"Gonna buy her a _cake_ ," Squalo said hoarsely, rolling slowly onto his back and rubbing his ribs gingerly. "Several cakes; any patisseries near her that deliver?"

"The Prince approves of this idea," Bel declared loftily, "and will contribute."

"I'm sure there are others who would love to chip in," Luss agreed, smirking wickedly, "although we don't want to overwhelm her after her ordeal."

"Coming here as soon as her exams are over; mid-May," Xanxus said, pouring himself another glass of tequila. "Can buy her more cake then."

"And take her around the funfair and buy her all manner of other things; we'll set up a fund," Luss decided happily, clapping his hands, "so everybody can contribute to giving her a good holiday."

"So weekly cake until then?" Bel persisted.

"Weekly _small_ cakes; or else boxes of a few pastries or cake slices," Luss said firmly. "No more than one portion every other day; too much cake is worse than no cake."

Xanxus was sure that, provided there was sufficient variety offered, Florrie would not manage to be tired of cake by the end of next month. He was also sure Housekeeping would want to _make_ her cake rather than just buy it; she was one of them after all.

* * *

Easter week was generally quiet on Mafia Land, as while not much of the Underworld was as rigidly Catholic as the Italian Mafia, it being a week when the _Cosa Nostra_ did little to no business meant that a lot of other criminal establishments took the opportunity to stay closer to home and catch up on local matters.

Of course some people _did_ decide it was the perfect moment to go on holiday, but generally speaking, Holy Week was a time Colonnello could safely leave his lieutenants in charge and do whatever he pleased without part of him expecting a phone call recalling him.

Not that he'd ever had his leave cut short more than once every few years and generally speaking his subordinates _could_ have managed without him, but exceptions did happen and the Underworld was rather unsettled at the moment. The Varia defecting –well retiring en masse but whatever– and the CEDEF imploding, followed shortly after by the disappearance of the External Advisor in the Middle East, meant that the up-and-coming were getting pushy and the well-established were eyeing the Vongola with an eye to improve their standing on the global stage.

It was definitely going to get worse before it got better, which was why Colonnello wanted to take his holiday _now_ : He might not get the chance later. Although he wasn't going anywhere; where would be go? He was just taking time off, staying in and doing a bit of catching up. Well, that was what he'd planned on doing anyway, except that he'd clearly mentioned to Fon that he was taking some time off the last time he called his fellow Ex-Arcobaleno to vent about being stalked and pranked by ex-Varia as the Storm had showed up to visit him.

Which, fine. He could deal; it was Fon, not Verde or worse, Reborn. He wasn't nearly as annoying as they were.

Except that Fon was a head taller than him and solidly into double digits, while _he_ was still looking like a preschooler! So not fair!

"Why am I the only one stuck aging at normal speed, kora! Not that it's not good to see you, Fon," Colonnello added hastily; "it's just frustrating."

"I must confess I had thought that we were all aging at different speeds," Fon admitted, reaching up to pet the monkey on his shoulder. "Reborn is already a teenager after all and Skull looks to be a little older than me, although that may simply be different growth rates. I've not seen Verde lately but he tells me he is physically eight at the moment."

"Viper looks about eleven now, but you're still _all_ aging double speed at _least_ and leaving me behind!" Lal had turned adult in an instant but he was stuck as a child! What kind of warped backwards logic from the Curse was _that_?!

"I'm afraid I have no idea why that is," the Storm said calmly. "Verde or Viper would be the ones to ask, as they have both made a study of the Arcobaleno Curse, but even they might not know. It is not like they have ever been released from the Curse before. The Vindice clearly did not experience what we have: they are all fully grown save for Bermuda. Indeed, the gradual lifting of the Curse we experienced may even be why Yuni abruptly reverted to toddlerhood, although she is genuinely a child rather than only physically such."

Colonnello rubbed his headband sheepishly; he'd never been much for studying and science, which was why he'd joined the military in the first place. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't take it out on you," he apologised. "I've got that oolong tea you like, but you probably don't want me brewing it." He could never remember what temperature fancy teas needed to be brewed at.

Fon smiled at him. "I will make the tea then, so that we can both appreciate it. How have you been?"

Colonnello followed after his currently-taller former colleague into the kitchen, climbing up onto the table as the Storm made use of the step-stool. "Frustrated by Varia making a nuisance of themselves mostly; they're keeping within the rules laid out by Mafia Land's authorities for appropriate behaviour, yes, but they're still being as annoying as they possibly can for no reason I can fathom. Well, some of them are; the paintball games are fun and some of my men are starting to learn a little more woodcraft by example, but we're still getting completely thrashed every single time. Or we were until they suggested mixed teams; now my men just get shot first and then it turns into a Varia free-for-all complete with impossible stunts!" How the _hell_ did somebody not a Mist hide _in_ a tree?! It made no sense!

Fon glanced back at him over his shoulder. "It sounds like you have been offered a rare opportunity to learn new skills," he said warmly, filling the kettle with water.

Colonnello gaped. That was _not_ what was going on! Was it? "New skills, kora?"

The Storm blinked innocently. "Are you not being challenged? They are showing off their abilities and inviting you to match them. I have fought the Varia's Officers; they are tremendously skilled and remarkably subtle. Were you not complaining barely six months ago that you felt stuck in a rut?"

Well yes maybe but that didn't mean he'd wanted to be regularly trolled by a bunch of assassins! "I can't ask them to sign on to teach Security, kora! We'd lose our neutrality!"

Fon put the kettle on the hob, turned the knob and jumped down to open the cupboards. "What do Mafia Land's security teams have to do with your desire for self-improvement? You've said before now that your lieutenants are perfectly capable of running training without you and overseeing the defence of the island." He glanced up at Colonnello with a faintly wry smile. "We are no longer Arcobaleno, for the Underworld to squabble over and claim as trophies. We do not look as we did then; men who hunted me for decades now walk right past me in the street. What is another child in a crowd?"

Colonnello gaped. He'd not left Mafia Land since the Curse was broken and everybody here knew him and had worked with him for years; he'd not thought to see how strangers reacted. He'd jumped at the chance to train Mafia Land's security forces way back when he'd been fighting to find his feet in the newly-discovered Underworld, the Arcobaleno scattered to the winds by Luce's betrayal and none of them giving a shit about him anyway because they didn't know him. He'd picked Mafia Land because it was neutral, had made a good impression on the local authorities and been offered a training position, which he'd made his own in the decades since; he'd been here far longer than anybody he was working with and predated half the current upper echelon.

He'd never thought about leaving. Where would he go?

If Fon was right, then the answer was 'anywhere.' Although his still looking like a preschooler would make things much more difficult for him. Then again, wasn't Fon's ward a child assassin? So kids running around free weren't _that_ rare in the Underworld.

"Change comes for all of us now," Fon continued quietly, hopping back up to sit on the counter with the tea tin in hand, "and we are changing with it. I am not who I was before the Curse and will never be who I would have been without it. The world changed without us and now we must catch up with it." He smiled again, soft and self-deprecating. "Strange how it is Mammon, who always seemed so secretive and set in their ways, that is most grounded in the present. They found themselves another Sky and have surrounded themselves with the young and ambitious, keeping themselves on the forefront of change."

That couldn't be –surely– but! "Reborn?" Colonnello managed.

Fon snorted lightly, setting out two tea bowls on the counter. "Reborn so abhors change that to survive it when it was forced upon him he had to destroy most of his own memories," the Storm reminded him. "He grows swiftest in body, yes, but in mind he remains far behind the times. His methods have not changed in thirty years but the world has moved on without him; he is a relic of an older time. Hitmen are no longer the dashing gentlemen of the Underworld; that role has passed to the silver-tongued negotiators and daring thieves. Even an assassin may be a gentleman, his work as precise and discreet as it is professional, but hitmen are cheap and messy and as likely to be caught by civilian police forensics as not. Mass surveillance and satellite communication have changed the world, my friend; we can but change with it."

Colonnello had forgotten how Fon could wax philosophical sometimes.

"But that is something for later," the Storm continued, moving the kettle off the heat and adding the leaves, then turning off the hob. "Now we will drink tea."

All very well to _say_ that but Colonnello's mind was spinning! There was no way he'd be able to relax!

Urgh, this was why Fon was so frustrating to talk to! Reborn was much less effort. He and the Sun would fight and argue but Reborn didn't hurt his brain unless he started talking higher mathematics. Colonnello however was _not_ going to complain about the Varia to Reborn; not in a million years. The Sun would never stop deriding his incompetence.

Accepting his tea, Colonnello sat cross-legged on the table opposite his former colleague and sort-of friend, waiting for his tea to cool and watching Lichi eat dates. He was remembering now why he didn't usually invite Fon over to visit.

The other man had only been here fifteen minutes and he already had a headache.

* * *

Seeing as he was on Mafia Land, Fon felt it would only be polite to visit Mammon. He'd not seen the Mist since the Arcobaleno Battle and then tactfully stayed away afterwards; the injuries to Mammon's Sky and fellow Guardian would hold their attention and he'd recently discovered that his colleague found him irritating, so had not wanted to impose.

However he'd kept himself appraised of what Mammon was doing, mostly through I-Pin, who had heard quite a bit about what the Varia were supposedly getting up to through Lambo and overhearing Tsunayoshi and his Guardians discussing Xanxus.

The teenagers' take on things had been understandably biased, but Fon had plenty of practice reading between the lines. What he had picked up made made it clear that the injured had recovered well and that the Sky was taking good care of Mammon as they grew. Also that Tsunayoshi respected and trusted the older Sky despite his Right Hand's scaremongering, which said good things about the Varia Boss. Tsuna was a kind child.

There had been less news recently, with Lambo spending more time in Sicily and the Varia's abrupt mass defection from the Vongola, but Fon doubted that things had changed as much as all that. They were still the same people he had met and fought four years ago, after all, and Mammon had been in touch to warn them of what the Gesso had revealed of Yuni, so he felt confident that there were no hard feelings.

Locating the residence of the former Varia was likely to be challenging considering the haphazard layout of Mafia Land's residential area, so Fon decided to locate an assassin instead. Their uniforms were fairly distinctive, being mostly black leather, so it didn't take him so very long.

Then it was simply a matter of introducing himself and making the request.

The trio of assassins he'd found buying candy floss looked at each-other, then grinned in unison.

"Sure you can visit," the short one said cheerily. "I'll call ahead to let Boss know."

"It's this way," the darker-skinned one added. "Wait, d'you want some candy floss too?"

"No thank you," Fon demurred, touched by the offer. He didn't like sweet things much; one of the joys of being physically more mature was that he could eat spicy foods again.

"Well, let's go then!"

Walking along the narrow winding streets in the middle of a cluster of assassins in matching uniforms was perhaps not as discreet as it could have been, but Mafia Land's residents were clearly familiar enough with the group to find other things to do and look away as they came into view, so he was unlikely to be recognised.

"We have Apprentices about your age," the short assassin said, glancing his way, "so don't worry about fitting in."

The Varia recruited so young? Well, no longer the Varia, but it seemed likely to Fon that the group would keep the practices and traditions they had become accustomed to and that were part and parcel of their social interactions. Nominally Cavallone now they might be –he could see their jacket patches, a variation on the Cavallone crest– but he doubted that there had been any significant changes to the group's inner workings.

"And here we are," the quietest assassin said, waving Fon over to the left. Walking through the gap in the fence, the Storm blinked at the way the sandy yard around the apartment block twisted and expanded to more than fifty times the size, stretching out on either side of the building and a long way behind it.

"Come inside, Boss is waiting," another assassin said, glancing up from where they were sprawled on the steps leading up to the front door.

Fon wasn't bothered by the obvious Mist Territory or the extra assassin; what concerned him was the very large ivory-grey cat perched on the stair rail, looking very like an undersized, unspotted snow leopard. The feline was watching him with unusually intelligent eyes; no, it was watching Lichi.

The monkey dived down inside the collar of his jacket, clinging to the back of his shirt and shivering.

"Ah, don't mind Haamu; she's a sweetheart," the dark-skinned assassin on his right said cheerfully, pushing Fon onwards and nodding at the cat in passing; she nodded back.

There were more cats in the front hall of the apartment block; a fully-grown jaguar lazing on a wide shelf near the ceiling, a trio of cats on the stairs that would have been able to pass as domestic had their fur not been marbled and mottled and something that he couldn't quite identify as it had traits from several different feline species and only looked half-grown. Had the ex-Varia decided to invest in the exotic pet market? None of these were animals that should be kept as pets, but then again the assassins around him weren't treating them as _pets_ exactly. Rather they were giving the variously-sized animals the space and respect they deserved.

Treating them as Fon did fellow Triad enforcers, in fact.

He would have been more comfortable had the cats not all turned to stare at the quivering lump between his shoulder-blades. Poor Lichi was not enjoying this in the slightest.

* * *

By the time their little party reached the room where Xanxus was lounging on a sofa they were being followed by an adult lynx –and Fon had never seen one in the flesh before– and the unidentified juvenile hybrid, the latter of which was very blatantly stalking him. Fon was not particularly concerned –the men accompanying him seemed to find the behaviour adorable– but Lichi's heartbeat was racing and the poor monkey seemed in the edge of panicking.

The common room Xanxus was in had a large number of comfortable-looking sofas and armchairs in varying sizes; Fon picked a modestly-sized armchair opposite the Sky and settled in it, crossing his legs on the wide seat and leaning back slightly to offer Lichi more shelter. The lynx ambled over to where Squalo was sitting, shoving its head into the swordsman's lap and displacing his book, and the young feline hybrid bounced over the back of the white liger sprawled in front of Xanxus's sofa and into the Sky's lap, narrowly avoiding the brace on the man's lower leg with a scrabbling rear paw.

Xanxus immediately set his book aside and dropped a hand to rub the large leggy kitten behind the ears, coaxing out a happy squeaky purr as the liger –the Sky's Box Animal– lifted its head to sniff the interloper and then rose to its feet, leaning over the sofa and planting a paw on the hybrid's back then bending down to groom it.

The purring ceased instantly, replaced by mewls and squeaks as the juvenile struggled fruitlessly.

"So what brings you here?" Xanxus asked, making Fon blink at the sheer civility of the inquiry. Yes, the tone was somewhat mocking, but it was still dramatically different from their last encounter. That his Box Animal was grooming a smaller cat in his lap made matters all the more surreal.

"I wished to extend my thanks for the information passed on by the Varia concerning the last Sky Arcobaleno," he said, smiling and reminding himself to be calm. "The details of the false memories and how they related to the Tri-Ni-Sette were also most timely." It had kept him from making a number of very serious mistakes.

The liger dragged the kitten off its Sky and down to the carpet, continuing to groom it mercilessly. Fon wondered whether that was normal behaviour for an adult male feline, as they normally had nothing to do with raising their young.

"Thanks accepted," Xanxus drawled, "but you could have just sent a card."

Fon smiled at the joke. "I was visiting the island and felt I should tender my gratitude in person," he said lightly.

"If you were genuinely grateful you should have sent money," Mammon grumbled, appearing in mid-air just above Xanxus's shoulder. Fon's smile widened at the sight of the Mist, who was likely only slightly shorter than he was right now.

"It is good to see you looking well, Mammon," he said warmly.

"Mu, I see you are getting unnecessarily tall again," the Mist replied sniffily. Fon chuckled; when at his adult height he was slightly shorter than Kyōya had been at sixteen; now his nephew was three years older and taller than the Storm could ever hope to become. He'd been third-shortest of the Arcobaleno when they were first called together, not including Luce; only Skull and Mammon had been smaller and he suspected the Cloud had been young enough to have growing yet to do.

"I could never aspire to the heights Verde and Reborn will reach," he teased lightly and self-deprecatingly, "but I do well enough."

The Mist huffed. "Why are you really here, Fon?"

"Might you know why Colonnello's growth rate is so stunted compared to the rest of ours?"

"That will cost you forty euros," Mammon said instantly; the low price implied the Mist felt it was a blatantly obvious reason, or else that they were in a good mood. Fon fished in his pockets for the appropriate currency; Mafia land did take everything, but the prices were frequently ever-so-slightly rounded down in euros. Which he hadn't noticed for himself until after Colonnello had mentioned it, but since then he'd always made a point of changing his money before visiting. Likely to be either an accounting error or an Euro-centric attitude on the part of the island's administration, which was probably subconscious as it would otherwise be perceived as favouritism.

Mammon swooped down to take the banknotes and swiftly pocketed them. "Colonnello's control of his internal Flames is abysmal," the Mist said dismissively, "so he is Tranquilising his own growth much as Reborn is Activating his, with predictable effects."

That made far too much sense; Fon really should have considered that. "Thank you for answering," he said, bowing gratefully.

"Mu, you paid me."

A large cat leapt up onto the back of his chair and Lichi whimpered; Fon decided it was time to depart, before the poor monkey had a heart attack. "My thanks for your hospitality," he said, turning back to Xanxus, "but I must take my leave."

"Mind the cats," the Sky drawled, picking up his book again. Fon would never have pegged the former Varia Boss as a fan of Underworld pulp romance, but clearly the man had hidden depths.

* * *

It was Holy Friday and Luss had finally let him take the brace off; Xanxus had gone for a dawn run with the Lightning Ladies to celebrate. Both of them had joined him on his swims while his shin mended, but neither of them had been particularly confident in the water. The two-month rehabilitation he'd suffered through due to Bester not being careful enough while playing –oh the irony– had provided plenty of time for him to coach them in more effective swimming styles and teach them about spotting and avoiding deep-water currents, but they were still just as happy as he was to get back to running.

Both of them having fairly long hair had factored in there, as did the inconvenience of menstruation. Then there was Alo not being the only shark in the water and the fact that the netting to keep out jellyfish and the like only ran around the tourist beaches; Mafia Land didn't have enough Mists on contract to run Wards over the entire island. Mammon could have done it by themselves, but most Mists couldn't boast of even a _tenth_ of Mammon's reserves.

After his run he showered and ate breakfast, then headed over to his office-study and got out the paperwork that had been sitting gathering dust since December. Annamaria had helped him hash out the basics of his planned negotiation business back in the autumn, but he'd not felt up to really getting started until now.

Reading through, Xanxus was confident it wouldn't actually be hard; he just had to keep an ear out for who was struggling to arrange a treaty or negotiate a ceasefire or something, do some research then get in touch with both parties to offer his services. Proper negotiators could be hired by both parties at once rather than just the one, which made a successful outcome more likely as then the negotiator was invested in the collaboration rather than just good results for their 'side.'

The Underworld was in flux following the swift collapse of the CEDEF and wholesale dissolution of the Varia, so there'd be no shortage of conflict to calm. He just had to get out there and be shamelessly brazen.

With that in mind Xanxus went out for a wander around the island, veiling his Flame signature and sitting in a few of the more popular bars and cafés with his book so he could eavesdrop on gossipers. It wasn't hard; people talked and Mafia Land being neutral made trash incautious of who might overhear.

It was amusing how many people failed to recognise him with his Flames suppressed, despite his wearing the Varia uniform. It was probably the lack of feathers and tails in his hair, as he'd got a bit out of the habit of wearing them since Christmas; probably another depression thing.

He wasn't best pleased to realise that, but realistically there wasn't much he could do about it. Beating himself up for not having the energy for complicated self-presentation wasn't exactly going to make him feel better, after all.

Maybe he could ask Schön to help him there? She had good taste and letting her pick what went in his hair after their runs would be good for her confidence as well as for him. He'd ask her tomorrow.

* * *

After lunch Xanxus attended a short church service in the office building –Father Gregorius had stayed behind in Sicily to tend to the needs of his established flock of retirees but Reverend Leder had come with them– then headed back to his workshop. He'd finally decided to frame two of the watercolour sketches he'd done of Florrie, which meant making the frames himself because like hell he was letting anybody else handle them.

Making wooden frames was almost deceptively easy, although wood was finickier than metal about what angles you could cut it in. He'd glued and clamped the first one in place and was measuring up for the second one when his phone rang.

They were two hours ahead of Sicily currently, Mafia Land floating a little off the south coast of Madagascar, so it was three in the afternoon there. What did horse want? Was it a family thing?

"Hey pony."

"Hello to you too," his little brother said, tone longsuffering but with a faintly apologetic note underpinning it that made Xanxus wary.

"What've you done this time?" He demanded.

A sigh. "You know what, that's fair," horse muttered ruefully. "Byakuran's been visiting me."

He'd been right to be wary; what was Scooby angling for? "Oh?"

"He said he was concerned about the future of the Alliance, and that he needed more data in order to model it accurately," horse continued, picking his words with care. "However access to the Vongola Archives is restricted and there isn't a lot written down outside of it, so the only effective way to know what's been going on in the Alliance over the past fifteen years is to talk to people and winnow out the facts."

"Long job," Xanxus offered, because it was; he'd had to catch up on eight years of that after getting out of the ice and he'd had Squalo's meticulous referenced summaries of Information's reports to work from, which had been back- and forward-annotated multiple times to tie things together, highlight how events had unfolded and mention what they'd seen coming and what they'd missed.

It had taken him most of a year to get it all memorised.

"Yes; impossibly long really," Dino agreed, "except that he has a _very_ good grasp of most of what happened in the period between ninety-seven and oh-five. Earlier than that he's got dates and hearsay and after that he admitted to mostly having 'misconceptions.'

That lined up very tidily to the invention of the Ten-Year Bazooka, which according to shark had been deemed 'safe to use' around two-thousand and had obviously been sufficiently child-proof by oh-four for the Bovino to let a four-year-old abuse it. End of the 'accurate predictions' was when they'd all got those shitty fake memories, as that would have thrown everything off.

"Been filling him on the old shit then," he guessed.

"Yes, the parts I was aware of at least," Dino agreed, "which retrospectively was probably not as much as it could have been, seeing on how keen I wasn't on becoming Don Cavallone back then."

Xanxus snorted. "So what went wrong?"

A pause. "You know me far too well," horse mumbled, then continued in regular tones: "Byakuran was explaining to me how his prediction ability works: it's basically behaviour modelling, based on what he knows of the people involved. For instance he can predict Irie Shōichi with disturbing precision because he's seen Irie in thousands of different future models, Irie pursuing a different primary goal in each, so he can pick out the common threads with ease. However it turns out he can't model you at _all_ ; you weren't even _in_ most of the hypothetical futures due to still being on ice."

Well that made… sense. The Bovino model only tracked primary goals of Active people and the old fart's primary goal had _never_ been defrosting him, so it hadn't happened. It hadn't been shark's primary goal either; his Rain had been focused on keeping the Varia running until he got back, with getting him out as a side-project to be pursued quietly and indulged swiftly should an opportune moment arise.

"Then suddenly there you were in the simulations, disrupting all his schemes because the entire Varia went from pursuing their various individual goals to following _your_ goal," Dino continued, "but according to Byakuran, your behaviour across all those simulations from August to October was completely consistent: no matter the simulation you followed Nono's orders to the letter while frequently violating the spirit of them, constantly incandescent with rage and bitterly resentful of everything and everyone, if settling a little in those simulations where Nono died before the end."

Xanxus closed his eyes and breathed. He wasn't in the Iron Fort. He wasn't fresh out the ice and helpless at the wily old scum's non-existent mercy. He wasn't trapped by orders and oaths, half-blind with bitter fury and doubting his own sanity as he was pulled this way and that by the manipulative fuckhead's strings.

"Xanxus?" Horse sounded concerned. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have asked but Byakuran wanted to know more about you because you're the big anomaly throwing all his models off and I refused to say anything without asking you first."

Breathe in. Breathe out. He was. Out of reach. He could –could– could _think_. About. Breathe in. Breathe out. About those words. Breathe in. Breathe out. Shitty treacherous _scum_ threatening–

In. Out. In. Out. The anvil was blessedly solid under his fingertips.

"Xanxus I'm _sorry_ I shouldn't have as–"

"Shut up." In. Out. "Trash." In. Out. "Listen."

Horse stopped fretting. Good. Only saying this once.

"Old fart defrosted me." In. Out. "Couldn't move; couldn't use Flames." In. Out. "Told me to obey him." In. Out. "Else he'd have shark and Luss killed." In. Out. "For breaking previously-made oaths to the Vongola." In. Out. "So I obeyed." In. Out. "Ran the Varia for _eight_ _years_ with me as hostage to their good behaviour" –in. Out– "but now I was out he didn't need them anymore, 'cept to keep me in line." In. Out. "Couldn't." In. Out. " _Need_ my Hands." In. Out. "Couldn't think _couldn't_ they'd _notice_ –" In. Out. In. Out. "Safe now." In. Out. "Away." In. Out. "Can _say_ –"

A clatter on the stairs and a loud splash of familiar Flames across his senses. "Vooi you _moron_ having a panic attack on the fucking _phone_ –"

Xanxus let himself slip against his Right Hand's chest, be lifted off his feet, carried up the stairs into the living room and gently laid down on the couch, then didn't resist as a comforting Cloudy-feeling blanket was wrapped firmly around him. Had he dropped the phone?

"VoOOI! Dumbass Bronco, asking Stupid questions!" No, shark had it. "Xanxus will call you _later_ and –what? You tell Tesla what the Gesso trash is doing and have _him_ deal with it!" An electronic peep. "Fucking Skies and their fucking Dumb, the fuck do I put up with you all," his Rain snarled, pulling Xanxus's boots off and tucking the blanket around him more securely. "I've hung up on Dino, he can't hear us. D'you want hot chocolate?"

"Yes." Breathe in. Breathe out. "And Stripes."

"I'll get you your tiger first, hold on a mo'." Rapid footsteps on tile, a door opening, a pause and then footsteps returning and a soft, familiar-scented shape pressed against his upper chest. "There. I'll go make the chocolate."

He reached out blindly and gripped his Rain's hand. "Wait." He had. To say it. Shark _needed_ to know.

"Yes Xanxus, I'm here."

"Old fart. When he defrosted me. Said he'd have you and Luss killed. If I didn't do as he told me." Breathe in. And out. "Can't lose you." In. Out. "No dying."

"I _swear_ Boss, I won't die on you." Shark's hand gripping his just as tightly, Flames fierce; good. Shark had committed. "I won't let Luss die on you either and Mammon will be on hand should we need a miracle. We're not going _anywhere_ and neither are you, d'you hear me?"

"Hear you." Good. This was. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. "Mine. Keeping you."

A warm frisson of delight under the fury and concern. "Glad to hear it." Dry lips pressed to his forehead. "Love you, asshole. Let me go make us both chocolate and I'll sit on the couch with you to drink it."

Xanxus let go, cuddling Stripes against his chest and trying to keep his breathing steady. Shark wasn't going far.


	8. Chapter 8

The last chapter will be up tomorrow and then the series will be over!

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

Squalo had known for a while now that there was no way Xanxus would be attending the Superbi Family Reunion this year; it just wasn't safe. For all he knew Don Vongola –may he rot in hell– would be watching, intending to send people to waylay him the moment he had confirmation Xanxus was in the country.

On that basis _he_ probably shouldn't be planning to attend the reunion either, but Xanxus not attending made Squalo's presence all the more important: he had to talk to people on his Sky and cousin's behalf, mediate conversations via phone, see his sister, visit his almost-year-old godson –Gwasgedd was sending him photos but it wasn't the same– and check in with Springer.

That last one was going to be the riskiest; he'd probably have to leave it to the very last minute.

Knowing what he did now about what Nono had threatened Xanxus with before the Ring Battles, Squalo was far warier of potential Vongola encounters than he had been previously. Visconti was still in jail pending his court hearing at the end of May, so his moderating voice would be missing from Don Vongola's inner circle. In his absence the most heeded voice would be Coyote's; Coyote, who'd never liked Xanxus. Coyote, who had turned his back on their Family in favour of the Vongola. Coyote, who embodied so many of the shitty Storm stereotypes –narrow, obsessive, judgemental, holding petty grudges– concealed behind apparent reasonableness and an affable old man façade.

Nono threatening him and Lussuria was well out of line –Sky bonds superseded _all_ previous oaths, it was _right there_ in the Vongola bylaws– but that didn't mean the slippery scum wouldn't follow through on it if he thought he could get away with it. After all, it being 'against the rules' wouldn't matter afterwards; they'd be no less dead and their Sky no less broken and bereaved.

Fuck it, he'd take Bel with him; that should dissuade any attacks if his presence was leaked. Bel was very much _not_ Vongola and didn't give a shit about their rules despite knowing what they were, so would take anybody else bending those rules in his vicinity as an invitation to abandon them completely. Plus Bel had made a reputation for himself as a bloodthirsty sociopath who only respected orders from Squalo and their Sky, so people would hesitate to attack the person keeping Prince the Ripper in check.

He would of course make sure Bel knew _why_ he was invited; the Storm was after all a genius and would pick up on things Squalo missed. He was also surprisingly sociable when he wanted to be, so might even enjoy himself in his own idiosyncratic snobby and deriding fashion.

First though he had to convince Xanxus that his going wouldn't end horrendously badly. Which… it might, honestly. But he was planning on going in disguise –even though it would probably mean dying his hair, urgh– and cross-dressing, which would at least put the Vongola off his trail for a bit. There were so _many_ Superbi visiting the area in May that finding one specific one was damn challenging even for fellow Family members and it wasn't like anybody could use Mist-tricks to locate him; Mammon had ensured only they could do that.

He'd have to warn the cat too, so things stayed on the down-low.

* * *

Colonnello had been a commando once –a lifetime ago now– and while he'd been on Mafia Land training their Security Forces longer than he'd been anywhere else, it was still his military training and the discipline instilled in him as a teenager that he fell back on when stressed.

In CONSUBIN, commandos had regular training courses to pursue specialties and expand their experiences. Colonnello had only gone on one such course after being deemed combat-ready –he'd been turned into a toddler barely two months after completing sniper training– and since then he'd not really done much that was _new_. He'd learned languages, kept up to date with new weaponry and so on, but that was maintenance. He'd not really done much with his Flames either; Flame-training was something the Underworld's various factions kept secret and Colonnello hadn't joined one of the groups that specialised in such things.

What he _could_ do he'd mostly worked out himself and didn't use much; his commando skills were more than enough, even miniaturised. Or they had been until recently.

The thing was, if he was being honest with himself, it wasn't _just_ the ex-Varia casually outclassing him while laughing that was the issue; it was that they'd made it impossible for him to ignore how the slow process of growing up was seriously affecting his existing skills. His coordination was shot by the physical changes he'd undergone in the past three years after over thirty of being stuck toddler-shaped, his emotional control was terrible, he suddenly needed even more sleep and food despite how slowly he was growing, he struggled to focus and while he had been managing to continue his duties, they took more effort and he was delegating a lot more to his lieutenants. Who admittedly were more than ready for the responsibility; he just hadn't been ready to let go.

Except now Fon's observations were wriggling around in his brain and he couldn't say the Storm had been wrong about any of them.

Which was why he'd handed in his notice, had packed up his belongings and was about to attempt something that was either genius or very stupid: he was going to try and join Xanxus's Family. Which was basically the Cavallone –and he'd seen enough of Dino to know he was a good kid– except that he'd be under the former Varia Boss's personal authority and probably have to sign one of their infamous contracts.

Kurt had mentioned those contracts in passing a time or two, making it clear they were fairly restrictive and very direct about maintaining Op-Sec. In that you died before you broke it.

Then again, who did he have to talk to? Lal had vanished into thin air a few weeks after refusing to set a wedding date, Reborn was too busy turning his current student into the next Don Vongola and he'd not seen Skull at all since the Curse was broken. Not even spoken to him; he'd been surprised that Fon had, because Colonnello had no idea where the stunt biker even _was_. He'd expected to see the idiot on the next assault on Mafia-Land after the Curse broke, but Skull hadn't been there or on any of the assaults since.

Viper had never been one for conversation, Verde was obsessed with science, Fon's philosophical tendencies made his head hurt and there wasn't really anybody else he was comfortable with. Nobody else understood where he was coming from and now it was looking like his former colleagues weren't sharing his current experience _either_ , so he was even more isolated than before. The rest of them were already at least twice as old as he was and the explanation Fon had paid for and passed on made it clear it was his own damn fault he was still tiny.

He didn't want to be alone; he wanted to belong. He wanted people who would back him up and help him learn new things. He didn't want to be a trophy or a mascot and the former Varia was probably his best shot for that, because Viper was one of them and very obviously a full member despite having apparently retired from being an Officer a year or so back.

He could speak the required number of languages for the old admission standards, but he'd probably have to convince Xanxus to take him on somehow since they were basically the Wrath Sky's private army now. He wasn't sure how to do that –it wasn't like he had any particular skills to offer they didn't have on their payroll already– but he had to try.

If they turned him down he wasn't sure what he would do. It wasn't like he could go home; his parents were dead, his siblings were either dead or grandparents and he was physically five. If this didn't work he might end up taking a sabbatical somewhere remote and wait for his body to grow up again, but that sounded so boring he'd much rather avoid a decade and change of procrastination.

Shaking his head, Colonnello finished his packing. He just needed to find Falco and then he'd be ready to go.

* * *

Xanxus stared at the diminutive soldier –wait, CONSUBIN was Navy, right? So Colonnello was actually a sailor– for a long minute. Him wanting to join the ex-Varia was… not entirely surprising, honestly. Dark Horse had been tormenting him for months and rubbing in his face how much more competent than him they were, so the Rain deciding he wanted to have the skills to match them fitted with what little else Xanxus knew of Colonnello's psychology. Not that much, truth be told; things heard second and third hand mostly, but they matched his initial impressions.

Practically speaking, he didn't need to maintain the old Varia recruitment standards. He was going to anyway though, because they winnowed out the idiots and the glory-seekers. However they no longer had a mook pool to dump newbies into, so if he let the guy sign on he'd have to assign the apparent five-year-old to a Squad.

Realistically, to Problem Squad; Colonnello was _all_ Problems right now, from the casual misogyny to the thoughtless bullying and refusal to take 'no' for an answer, and that wasn't Varia Quality. He'd have to shape up and Micia would be the perfect person to beat some sense into him.

"Have to sign a contract," he warned the ex-Arcobaleno; he wasn't going to swear strangers in for life, but the new oaths Mammon had helped him to devise still protected Varia secrets and prevented the revelation of confidential details, knowingly or not, so he wasn't going to modify them. Anybody who wanted to leave could still do so, but after leaving they'd not be able to talk about what they'd done or learned while working for him.

"I'm happy to do so, sir."

Xanxus rolled his eyes. "Boss, not 'sir'; Mist contract." So the Dumb blond knew what he was getting into; timing made it clear that Colonnello had likely been AWOL while stalking Lal before the Curse happened, so he'd broken whatever contract he'd had with the Italian Navy. Seeing as he'd been a CONSUBIN commando at the time, he'd probably had a lot of powerful people pissed at him over that. Probably dead powerful people by now but still; this wasn't something he could break on a whim, or at least was not something he would survive breaking.

"I expected a Mist contract, Boss."

Well at least he could learn. Getting up, Xanxus got a copy of the new signing-on contract out of the file, skimmed it, ticked a few boxes –being physically five, Colonnello would be subject to certain sections of the Apprentice protocols– and pushed it across the table, followed by the special Altered pen that extracted some of the user's blood to bind them to their word. "Sign on the lines by each section; your real name." Not necessarily a person's birth name, but the name they identified most deeply with.

The Rain meticulously read the entire contract, frowning at some of the sections and subheadings, but did eventually pick up the special pen and signed –in red– with his actual name, agreeing to all the rights he was guaranteed, the disclaimers on his potential death while under the co-signer's authority and the conditions he had to obey. Xanxus then co-signed once at the bottom, confirming the contract was between Colonnello and himself, got a new folder out of the supplies box to put the paperwork in then used his office landline to buzz Micia. She was in the building today so she wouldn't take long to arrive.

* * *

Colonnello watched Xanxus –Boss, that was really his Varia Name? Weird– set the phone receiver down, pull out a sheet of paper and start writing. He tried to read it upside down, but the script was recognisably Greek and that wasn't a language he knew. If Boss was even writing in Greek and not just using the script to write in yet another language; considering how language-focused the ex-Varia were, it wouldn't surprise him.

The office door opened. "You rang, Boss?" It was a pretty girl in her early twenties wearing a silk leopard-print headscarf over her hair, aviator sunglasses and one of the many variations of the Varia uniform. Which was fitted black leather and looked very good on her.

Boss finished writing, set the paper on top of the contract Colonnello had just signed and passed the folder over. "New member," the Sky said laconically.

The pretty girl raised an eyebrow over the rim of the sunglasses but accepted the paperwork. "Seriously?" She demanded.

Boss just hummed, as though subordinates questioning his judgement happened every day. "Micia is Leader of Problem Squad," he said, turning back to Colonnello, "and your new Squad Leader."

Meaning she had absolute authority over him, including the right to execute him in the field if he failed to behave 'as befitting Varia Quality,' which was definitely a reference he needed to find out about more in depth.

The girl sighed –she was young to be a Squad Leader, wasn't she?– and turned to leave. "With me, squirt."

"What about my bags, ma'am?" And what about Falco?

She didn't turn around. "Housekeeping will move your shit and arrange accommodation for your bird; Squad Leaders, General Managers and Officers are addressed as 'sir' or by Name."

Colonnello had to jump off the chair and run to catch up. "Yes sir." It was an odd system, calling women 'sir,' but he assumed it was some tradition or other.

Micia –her official Varia Name was 'kitty,' seriously?– led him out of the office and back into the front hall, then up the stairs. "Watch out for traps," she said absently; "they're tuned to Flames."

Colonnello quickly dropped his eyes from his new commander's very shapely behind to the staircase, which was indeed very heavily trapped. As were the walls, ceiling and the banister rail; it was like this and they _lived_ here? Micia wasn't avoiding all the traps, but seemed to be dissipating or bypassing some of them as she passed through. How she could differentiate between which to avoid and which to trigger was unclear, unless it was a rank thing? Squad Leaders were keyed into the security?

He tried to avoid as many as he could, but it some places that just wasn't possible and he _had_ to trigger something; his legs just weren't long enough to do otherwise. Micia apparently sensed his indecision and turned around for the first time since they left Boss's office, reaching back and picking him up by the back of his jacket.

It was undignified but it did get him past the traps.

She set him down on the first floor landing, then wandered across to knock on one of the doors.

"Hello darling!" It was the Sun Officer's. An office or an actual apartment Colonnello had no idea; what he'd thought was an apartment on the ground floor had turned out to be an entire complex of rooms not visible from the outside. Mist-space, like the grounds outside the building. That might explain the cats; they could easily be Mist-creations too.

"Squirt here needs a basic uniform," Micia said, boredom all too apparent in her tone, "and he's too small for hand-me-downs."

"Oh?" The flamboyantly homosexual Sun turned to look at him. "Well come in then sweet thing, I'll get you kitted out. Not a properly treated uniform, you understand –those are for full members only– but something basic so you fit in."

Colonnello reluctantly walked in; it turned out to be an apartment living room, almost wall-to-wall shelves loaded with books, a few plants and a big rack of fabric on one side next to a stool and half-a-dozen differently-sized dressmaker's dummies.

"On, hm, on the table, I think," the Sun mused, closing the door behind Micia and wandering over to grab a tape measure off a nearby bookshelf. "Outer layers off, kitten."

"I'm supposed to just undress in front of a woman, kora?"

The comment flopped in mid-air between them like a dying fish.

"Are you implying I am sexually attracted to children, squirt?" Micia asked quietly after the pause had dragged on uncomfortably for far too long, Cloud Flames making themselves ominously felt in the air around them. His new Squad Leader was a _Cloud_? But, but she didn't act _anything_ like Skull or any of the other Cloud's he'd met! Or at least she hadn't until just now.

"What no, kora!" That wasn't what he'd said!

"Then what's the issue? It's not like you won't be sharing an apartment with the Squad."

Colonnello tried to think of a way to object without defaulting back to 'but you're a woman;' she was right, he _was_ physically a small child and had it been any other actual child he'd not have thought there was a problem, but it being _him_ –

He reluctantly undressed; Micia's utter disinterest was somehow crushing despite her completely reasonable point. Lussuria was equally professional with the measuring tape, mumbling to himself and jotting down numbers.

"The only thing I've got even vaguely in your size is one of Mammon's old uniforms that they've grown out of," the Sun said eventually, "So I'll get that out and see if it needs any adjusting. You're lucky there: those are all Flame-proof. Boots… hm. I'll have to see whether your feet are the same width as Mammon's, but that's less likely than their clothing fitting you. You may have to stick with your current pair."

Growing out of his boots was likely to happen within the year; that was the most annoying part of being a child again. As for the hand-me-downs… well, at least they'd be Flame-proof; his regular gear wasn't. And he was probably going to grow out of it all fairly soon, again.

"I'll have the uniform done in the next few days, kitten," Lussuria added, coiling up the measure tape, "and deliver it to your new room. Now get dressed and go meet your Squad."

Colonnello did so.

* * *

Squalo had read each of the four books Delfina had sent him three times: one time to determine contents, another time to go over with his sister's notes and take notes of his own, and a third time to get a feel for author bias, subtext and consider the wider impact of the work.

The least controversial book was a collection of letters between members of Vongola Housekeeping and their relatives on the front during World War Two, with a commentary of the code contained in those letters describing battalion strength, positioning, enemy movements and general gossip. What made it potentially inimical to Nono Vongola's status quo were the letters in the second half of the book between certain people _not_ technically on the front in the final years of the war: volunteers and spies and Vongola high-ups passing on information and talking about everyday life.

Specifically there were letters from Ottava to her Head of Housekeeping detailing things she wanted seeing to –assassinations included– and a strong insinuation that she was shacking up with the unnamed Sky she'd rescued out of a concentration camp; Squalo was fairly sure that Sky had been Tyrant, which was a scary thought. There were also letters to her advisors confirming various decisions and mentioning her son's idiotic adolescent antics, which Timoteo Vongola probably didn't want to have brought up by the people he was chastising over their reckless behaviour.

The next-least controversial book was a treatise on Flames by Terzo Vongola, which was a thoughtful and detailed breakdown of all the different Flame-users he knew of, their temperaments and how they used their Flames. Squalo had written three times as many notes for that book then all the others put together and was going to ask if Mammon was willing to have a copy made for the library, since the hardback was old and the pages were fragile. Reading it made it clear the Vongola traditions about the desired roles for the Sky and their Guardians did not reflect the roles and strengths of Primo's Guardians at _all_ and the Family founder had been being both poetic and rather oblivious in describing his Guardians as he had. Never mind that Secondo, Terzo, Quarto and the several other related Skies mentioned all had completely different dynamics with their Guardians; there was no single standard to align with.

Nono was hiding that book for propaganda reasons and to limit more varied Flame-training within the Alliance as much as he could; limited training meant Flame users were easier to predict. Well, assuming that the Alliance Families didn't have a tradition of Flame-training already, which many of them didn't; the Alliata, Superbi and Visconti all did and the Scarlatti had sort of half a system, but that was only four out of many. If a person wanted to learn to use their Flames and there wasn't a teacher within their Family to help them they went to the Vongola for Guardian training, which taught what the Vongola –meaning Nono– wanted taught.

The second-most controversial book was a commentary on the transition from Quarto's rule to Quinto's, clinically outlining Quarto's suspicions concerning his wife and the isolation he subsequently imposed on his Spanish mistress and her son, his supposedly-legitimate sons' complicity in the rape of Don Superbi's niece, the near-schism in the Alliance over Quarto's choice of his mistress's son as his Heir and his Scarlatti External Advisor picking the oldest of Donna Vongola's sons while the matter of the rape was still unsolved, leading into how the Superbi had muscled the Alliance into accepting Quinto and married their Don's eldest daughter to the new Don Vongola.

There was also an entire section on the rise of the Mafia around the Vongola during Quarto's reign, how the annexation of Sicily by the Kingdom of Italy in eighteen-sixty had affected the local economy, the actions of the myriad new Mafia clans –both 'civilian' and Flame-using– and what the new laws were that forced the Vongola to carve out a place in the newly-forming Underworld rather than remain a mostly-legal pseudo-union and social support network. Because all those things had a significant effect on the upbringing of Quarto's children and had dramatically changed the Vongola Quarto had inherited, so it was something very different by the time Quinto took over.

Squalo had known about those events generally, but some of the details had surprised him. Quotes and testimonies from members of other Families, for instance, and the exact details of the Scarlatti Family's fall from grace after a new Mist technique proved beyond a doubt that the Donna Vongola had been regularly cuckolding her husband with one of his cousins. Also surprising was that Quarto had been the Don Vongola to firmly and thoroughly settle the Family and wider Alliance into the Underworld; generally it was Secondo who got blamed for that.

Nono's opinions on Mist-techniques for determining inheritance was probably why this book was out of favour, as were the sordid and bloody details of the internal conflict the External Advisor's nomination of his cousin's son in opposition of Quarto's choice of Heir had instigated and the details that undermined Secondo's scapegoating within the established propaganda.

The most controversial book was semi-autobiographical and written by Lampo, Primo's Lightning, and dated to the middle of Terzo's reign. It was a self-deprecating and painfully honest retrospective on his time with Giotto, the founding of the Vongola and the first ten years of leadership by his Sky, then Giotto's abrupt abandonment of both Family and half his Guardians and Ricardo's ascension as his half-brother's successor, along with the problems Secondo had faced as feudalism declined and the decisions made to protect those in his care. Which tended to be far less bloody than propaganda suggested; it had been a more violent age in general but effective shows of force had prevented significant further deaths. It had worked for the most part, if mainly because Ricardo had been far more of a realist than Giotto had ever attempted to be.

The book made it abundantly clear that Giotto had been a naïve idealist who had unexpectedly found himself in a position of power, in part due to being given the Tri-Ni-Set rings by Zaffera –Saphir? Zafira? Some cognate with 'sapphire' anyway– but largely by his having the luck of being born a powerful Sky and surviving the Activation of his Flames as a young teen. Lampo recognised in several places that Giotto's ideals had been occasionally self-contradictory and rather fluid; he'd been modelling himself on the saints and trying to embody the Catholic virtues, but failed to take into account that virtue was only virtuous when it was a choice and that people were always free to choose otherwise; if a man knowingly chose to do evil, then he could not be redeemed by example or by force. But Giotto had frequently failed to recognise that judging his fellow men for their evil was not his place, but God's; Lampo's feelings on the subject were clearly conflicted there, as the man had evidently been _trying_ to be a good Catholic and looking back on his youth made it clear he'd been complicit in a lot of very un-Catholic behaviour. Mass-murder of fellow Catholics in the name of the public good was not exactly virtuous.

This was not the all-wise, charismatic, gentle and virtuous Primo Vongola of Squalo's middle-school textbooks; all in all he sounded more like a hot mess blinded by the idea of a higher calling and deaf to the wisdom being offered by more sensible relatives and friends. Squalo had a feeling Nono had wanted this book out of the Archives so that Chew Toy –or more realistically Springer or Kalk– couldn't find it and read it.

If Springer ever got around to visiting then Squalo would definitely lend it to him; it was a very incisive and moving read. He was definitely having copies made of this one, so he could lend one around and put the original somewhere safe it could be preserved. Actually before that he should lend these to Boss, assuming the man hadn't already read them; they _were_ taken from the Vongola Achives after all and Xanxus had read a lot of what was in there.

* * *

What convinced Squalo that the former Varia had thoroughly settled into their new abode and had built up a new rhythm of work and play was not Mammon's satisfaction with the budget, Luss's cheerful humming as he bounced between his clinic and the Stables or even Xanxus's first negotiation venture; it was the cat videos.

The Varia's public documentation of its cat fixation had started with just cat photographs, occasionally with humorous captions, uploaded to the internet as reaction images in the late nineties, but in the aftermath of the Ring Battles some enterprising assassin had acquired a digital video camera and started taking short clips of the Varia's various felines being themselves, which were then uploaded to the internet. The speedy popularity had apparently been unexpected, but Mammon had noticed in short order, seen the earning potential and had set up an official cat channel –on subscription– along with having Information build a VPN and ensuring that the Varia was a fully licensed big cat sanctuary that people could donate to. That wasn't _just_ a tax gimmick.

Donations did in fact go into ensuring the cats' feeding and general health, along with paying for the time of those Mists interested in genetic mapping to experiment and find out more about how genetics affected phenotype, to improve understanding of the needs of the various hybrids.

Moving to Mafia Land had been tricky with all the cats, but they were still an accredited cat sanctuary and all the online supporters had been very generous when informed of the necessity of the move –framed as 'unsupportive land owners' for the oblivious public– and of their intent to find somewhere more spacious as soon as possible.

Cat money had moved through the black book after Nono's orders came down and was managed separately –mainly by Housekeeping– but it also paid the assassins who shot and edited the videos. Appearing in a cat video was limited to the lower-ranking assassins with non-physical specialties who were unlikely to be tied to crimes –Squalo and the other higher-ranking people had their faces and voices censored– and was considered a training exercise, since it required the creation and maintenance of a simple persona, decent public speaking skills and the ability to sneak up on the cats.

The last requirement tripped up significantly fewer people than the first two; stealth was easy for assassins compared to public speaking. A handful of Lightnings were really getting into it though.

Therefore nearly stumbling over a prone Lightning wearing a little camera strapped to the side of his head, pretending not to look at Optima as the jaguar stalked a drifting dust-bunny across a patch of sunlight on the fourth floor, tail waving happily, was an indication that everybody had finally settled in at the Stables and were getting on with living again.

That encounter prompted Squalo to check out the channel to see what was new and he had a chuckle at some of the videos; the one of Bester and Xanxus playing tag was especially fun, because the liger was visibly humouring his Sky in pretending not to notice he was being stalked and obligingly keeling over when ambushed.

Xanxus did exactly the same when the liger was the one chasing him, which made it even more hilarious; that Xanxus's face was blurred out for secrecy's sake did not detract from the show.

Chucking, Squalo let the next video play –Haamu lurking on a high shelf and dropping silently onto an unsuspecting Patriot, making him shriek like a piglet– and settled in to enjoy the show. There were at least ten new ones since he'd last checked and he wanted to watch them all; possibly several times over.

Cat antics were relaxing.

* * *

"Well _hello_ cousin; you look stunning."

Squalo rolled his eyes and let the cat embrace him; he was wearing a woman's pantsuit –mostly to obscure his build– and had had Maínomai Alter his eyes indigo and his hair to the same blue-black as Grandpa, which so happened to be much the same shade as Pantera's. Of course his vain cousin thought he 'looked stunning;' right now he looked a lot like kitty did.

"How're things?" He was using French, which about a third the wider Family had as a first language, to further encourage non-Superbi to look elsewhere for Xanxus's Rain Guardian.

Bel was of course blatantly conspicuous, but the Storm was off wandering around town on his own and being a distraction; Prince the Ripper had been delighted at the opportunity to mess with the Vongola upper echelon and had even promised not to leave any bloody messes in Alliance territory that could be traced back to him.

Squalo was a little wary of what the Storm had in mind that he'd been happy to promise _that_ , but whatever it was, it wasn't his problem. It would be the Vongola's problem or at most, Xanxus's problem. Bel was an adult and therefore no longer Squalo's responsibility. Mahi however was Squalo's apprentice despite being recently eighteen, so was still his responsibility; hence why Mahi wasn't here. Brat was good –Varia Quality most definitely– and a Squad Leader, but he'd decided that right now it was best to avoid trouble if possible. Mahi could sneak at the tail-end of the week to carry out the cargo transfer Squalo would be setting up while he was here and see family on the side, once the Vongola had stopped looking their way because the former Rain Officer had left the country.

"Not so bad, all things considered," the cat replied breezily, wrapping an arm around his waist and steering him deeper into the building. "Business has been a bit slow locally, but it's picking up abroad and your pioneering high-speed delivery service has inspired a few other relatives to offer something similar. Smaller cargoes though; we can't all be powerhouses."

It was true that the Varia had a great many shockingly powerful Mists –well they were ex-Varia now but they were still Quality– and that most regular Flame-users were unlikely to have reserves even a quarter as deep. Never mind that collaborative Mist-work was fairly rare and required the participants to genuinely get along rather than just be able to tolerate each-other. "And the social side?"

Kitty-cat purred smugly. "Don Vongola's recent distraction over the External Advisor's disappearance and his Cloud's unfortunate arrest pending trial abroad has been very timely."

So the Family was all the way to war footing now then? That was going to be interesting.

"Alliance matters have been fairly challenging actually," his cousin continued, leading Squalo into a decent-sized dining hall with drinks and nibbles on the sideboard and a very strategic array of uncles, aunts and cousins milling around the space chatting to one-another. "The revelations at the solstice concerning the Ring Battles made it clear that Nono's choice of Heir was less legitimate than he was being presented as. Then there is the little matter of a fake being used in the supposed Inheritance Ceremony and the event being interrupted before it could conclude to everybody's satisfaction, so a fairly large faction is now contesting the Decimo's upcoming ascension; mostly by pressing Don Vongola to elect a new External Advisor, who can then present an appropriate alternative candidate so that a proper Ring Battle can be held in full sight of the Alliance."

"Who's the Family pushing?"

"Delfina said she sent you her notes."

"I read them; Merlo then?"

Pantera handed him a drink and nodded. "He's willing and able, his mother was a Lanza so they're behind him too and so are the D'Ignoto, seeing as his grandfather was one of them and the only Sky they've ever had; turns out Fabio D'Ignoto was trained alongside Ottava by Settimo, but he bowed out of competing for the Don position." Kitty paused. "Considering he was fourteen at the time and Daniela was twenty, I'd say that showed brains. Of course then he met Merla during his stint in the Navy and married her, with the kids taking the Superbi name, so he'd rather dropped off the Vongola radar by the time he died in the mid-sixties."

"More sense than most Skies then," Squalo commented, helping himself to nuts and olives.

His cousin chuckled. "Merlo's wife's pregnant and his uncle Colibrì is another Sky, except he's sixty-five, retired and going Active this late would probably kill him."

"Wasn't it Colibrì who set up the queer youth shelter program?"

"Him and his partner, yes; he's earned his retirement," Pantera agreed, using a cocktail stick to stab an anchovy and wrapping it in a bit of bread before posting it into his mouth.

Well that was one more reason why the Alliance wouldn't support the older Sky; homophobia was very strongly ingrained in the people currently at the top of the heap. Squalo sipped his drink. "Where's Immacolata?" She was usually doing the rounds but he couldn't feel her anywhere. Was she sick? If so that was bad timing; there'd be no escaping concerned in-laws for so much as a moment unless she happened to be virulently contagious.

Kitty-cat swallowed his fish and beamed besottedly. "Oh, she's pregnant! I'm going to be a father again!" His face fell slightly. "But morning sickness has been _very_ unpleasant this time, so she's taking less on. Hopefully she'll feel better soon –she's at about week fourteen– but we're not taking any risks."

Squalo lifted his glass before taking a sip. "Congratulations."

"Thank you cousin. I'm sure she'd be delighted to be visited; Delfina's been keeping her company, since Visconti's arrest has made things a bit tense at her aunt's." Meaning that poor Paola Visconti was struggling with the pressure of having her father incarcerated abroad, pending a court sentence, and having to continue as normal while worrying about the man's advanced age and the problems he might face without access to Flame-adjusted medication. It wasn't like the old Cloud was the pinnacle of health, for all that he was much more mobile and energetic than Don Vongola. How old was he now? Seventy? No, sixty-eight; still damn old.

"I'll stop by later." His sister would get a kick out of his disguise and he could ask her some of the questions he hadn't wanted to bring up over the phone. They might have to take a walk somewhere to get some privacy to talk in, depending on how thick the crowd of well-wishers was.

"What am I introducing you as? Focena?"

Squalo growled. "Vooi, by my _name_ ," he grouched, switching to Italian. "This is just to throw Nono off." He was _not_ a porpoise!

"Well with the Family talking about how you _are_ here, he'll be looking for what he expects to see," Pantera mused, eyes lidding and smile going tight for a moment. "Provided that he hears at all; he's missing quite a bit these days." The smile turned toothy. "And of course should he ask, I can hardly be held accountable for forgetting to pass on a message. It's so busy this week after all and my dear wife's health has priority."

"Uncle still not retired yet?"

"He says this year," his cousin replied. "I'm hoping he'll wait until Christmas; by then Immacolata will have had the baby."

"Know what the sex is yet?"

"No clue," cat said cheerfully. "I'm hoping for another adorable little girl to dote on but a son would be nice too, I suppose. My little lioness probably isn't going to be inheriting the Family after all."

Léaina not inheriting was nothing to do with her being a girl and everything to do with her being a Sky; the Superbi felt that Skies had enough issues to deal with without adding the burden of Family leadership and most Skies weren't even _interested_ in being in charge. The ones that were tended to be fairly controlling –like Xanxus was honestly– and that was _not_ an approach that would work on a Family as large, diverse and full of proudly independent people as the Superbi. Historically, Dons and Donnas Superbi had been Storms, Suns and most recently Rains; it was more about personal temperament than Flame type really.

"Let me know when and I'll send a gift." Which reminded him: "Coguaro sent you an anniversary present, since he couldn't make it." Squalo was very suspicious of that gift –partly because his Sky had refused to specify what it _was_ – but he was still going to hand it over.

"Oh, how kind!" his cousin beamed. "No, don't hand it over now; I'll open it this evening over dinner, with Immacolata. An anniversary gift is for both of us after all."

Well yes, it was, but Squalo had recently been reminded of his Sky's trolling tendencies and had a feeling this present was as much a tease as a gift –much like his counterfeit tea set had been– and that Pantera would wish he'd avoided the audience afterwards. "Your funeral."

Kitty-cat chuckled, clearly picking up on some of the intended subtext but not all of it despite Squalo having complained to him about the tea set at length. Well cat only had himself to blame for not taking him seriously; he was the one who _knew_ Xanxus after all and the Sky had been feeling far too cheerful about handing that present over to not have planned something.

* * *

Squalo hadn't just brought women's clothing for the Family Reunion; he'd brought a few regular uniforms too, because he wanted to spar with Springer –and some other relatives– and the point of the disguise was to fool any Vongola observers not his own relatives. While on Superbi land he could dress as he pleased, although he'd have to hide the Alteration on his hair if he wanted to prevent people from joining up the dots. Which wouldn't be as hard as all that since his meagre ability with Mist had been accounted for: Maínomai had built a switch into the Alteration so he could turn it off temporarily and return to his normal hair and eye-colour if he wanted, but it took quite a lot of Flames because Alteration was a Flame-intensive field. Therefore it was not something he wanted to do more than once or maybe twice.

Then again even if people _did_ notice, they might think the change in colouring was all he'd done; most macho men did not consider that a guy might be willing to cross-dress in order to escape notice.

His plan was to stay on Superbi grounds on Monday, head over to visit Gwasgedd and Sarja and their son for Tuesday –to catch up on gossip as much as to visit his godson– and then hide on Superbi grounds all Wednesday, leaving in the early hours of Thursday morning, during twilight.

He was only staying for half the week –the longer he was in the country the more likely Nono Vongola was to notice– so he had already had Pantera call Springer and invite him over to visit on Wednesday, to 'meet more of the Family.' Squalo was leaving by sea on Thursday on a Family ship taking him and Bel to Tunis, where they'd be picked up by a Mist and transferred the length of Africa to Durban with the cargo for the ex-Varia that the ship was also transporting, then on another, smaller hop over to Mafia Land, which was currently moving slowly south from Madagascar towards the much cooler temperatures of the Prince Edward islands.

The floating island would be largely inaccessible from the second week of June until the very end of August, at which point ferries and seaplanes would start operating from the west coast of Australia. Until then however it would only be accessible to Mist-travel and cargo ships.

Squalo was honestly looking forward to a quiet summer; Mafia Land had a rough two-year circuit it travelled, passing along this specific part of the route every other year and using the downtime to perform essential maintenance to the island's engines, renovate the funfair rides, carry out repairs and update the infrastructure. A good proportion of the long-term residents who worked in the hotels and service industry therefore left the island as it passed South Africa and headed elsewhere for the slow season –often going on holiday themselves– but the former Varia would be sticking around. After all, they mostly travelled back and forth off the island by Mist-means and there was no reason why they couldn't continue doing so.

Most Mists struggled with long distances, especially to or from a moving target, but Quality made that limitation less of an issue and the Stables had Mammon's Territory around the building as something they could aim for. There were also a set of more refined and deliberate beacons Squalo had paid to have set up in a warehouse near the edge of the cargo port for his delivery business; only Mists contracted to run deliveries for him were keyed into those though, so he might well have an uptick in part-timers willing to do heavy lifting in exchange for access.

No Mist enjoyed the indignity of not knowing exactly where they were going to land; there'd been a few mishaps so far involving trees, trashcans and other people's roofs which only the spectators had found entertaining.

* * *

He was training in one of the underground halls –there was a warren of tunnels and caverns under Superbi Hall courtesy of a long-dead cousin Talpa back in the second half of the nineteenth century– on Wednesday morning when he sensed a familiar Flame signature approaching. Two familiar Flame signatures in fact; it seemed Bel had decided to stop by and watch.

"Sempai?" Squalo watched his apprentice's initial confusion dissolve swiftly into understanding and less-than-covert amusement. "You look exactly like your grandpa, sempai," the utter _brat_ commented.

"Vooi! For that I'm going to work you until you fall over!" Squalo snapped; he did _not_ look like Grandpa! Well maybe a little but not _that_ much! It was just the hair! It being dark blue and pulled back in a low ponytail was enhancing what little resemblance they shared!

"Ushishishi," Bel chuckled, retreating to sit on the amphitheatre-style steps cut into the walls on both sides. This was an exhibition space used for sporting events –there was actually a Family volleyball tournament going on that used the hall in the evenings– but he'd booked it for this morning and the early afternoon, as he had two days ago, so the only people coming down would be fellow sword users wanting to spar again and a scattering of would-be spectators.

"Swords only to begin with," Squalo dictated, "so rings off; give them to Bel."

Springer obediently did so, then promptly called out a spark of Flames without his ring before letting it subside and walking out onto the clearly demarcated floor facing his teacher. Smart brat; he hadn't said 'no Flames' after all, just no Box Weapons or focusing aids. "Ready, sempai."

"Today's lesson is using Flames internally to boost your stamina and reaction time," Squalo announced, then charged at a much higher speed than he'd yet shown his student he was capable of. Springer just barely managed to slide out of the way; Squalo grinned and turned snake-quick, attacking once more as he leaned on his own Flames to bolster his physical abilities.

This would be highly educational for Springer and extremely satisfying to inflict.

* * *

Bel had very much enjoyed watching Squ-sempai take Springer apart, offer rapid-fire critique and instruction over a brief lunch and then thrash his apprentice all over again immediately afterwards. There hadn't been much actual bloodshed, but the damage to both Springer's confidence and the egos of the other spectators had been highly satisfying; the Superbi might be more competent than the average peasant, but most of them weren't anywhere near Quality. Squ-sempai was genuinely the best in the world, showing the sword-inclined spectators the distance between Quality and mere talent. Truly he had won the title of 'Sword Emperor' through conquest and made it his own.

Afterwards the Prince offered to drive the peasant back to the Iron Fort, since calling a Vongola car like the Guardian had arrived in would tip off Nono as soon as the driver reported to his master of the state the younger Rain was in, which would only take a brief phone call. Plus Springer was amusing and Bel wanted to hear more about how Chew Toy and Smokescreen were adapting to their imminent rise to power.

He took a long way round, dawdling along minor roads and picking a route that would take them up the back of the Iron Fort's grounds so that Springer could slip in without being noticed by anybody except Housekeeping; more discreet that way. It would give Springer time to sneak into his rooms and clean up a bit, so he looked less like he'd been attacked and utterly thrashed. Repeatedly. By a swordsman.

That it provided extra conversation time was purely coincidental.

"So how's Xanxus and everybody else doing on Mafia Land?"

"Very well, peasant; Boss has started working again and the shark never stopped. The peasant suspects that it would take a permanently crippling injury to force Squ-sempai to take a proper holiday; he didn't take a break after cutting his own hand off after all and even while on bed rest waiting for the heart transplant he was doing paperwork. Luss is having fun with the transplant clinic, Mammon is very pleased with the money being made and Mahi is alternating between working for the shark and taking assassination missions."

"So you're all still doing those then?"

"Not all," Bel corrected loftily; "the Prince is acting as patron for a few former General Managers and Division Squad Leaders who wished to continue taking missions, liaising with Information, and other Squads are signing up to be offered work that falls within their field of expertise." It was the same system as when they'd been Varia, just on a smaller scale and not being assigned by Xanxus in accordance with the Vongola's wishes. Instead those vetting missions had to do so with the oaths made to Boss in mind, which was not so different really. He personally was enjoying the challenge.

"That sounds a lot more fun that what we've been doing," Springer said cheerfully. "It's been all politics and arguments and people insisting that Xanxus throwing the Ring Battles on Nono's orders means they aren't valid, so they need to be taken again with a different candidate. Three different people have been put forwards by their relatives; all of them are way older than Tsuna. I hadn't realised so much of the Alliance was related to Don Vongola, or that there were so many Skies!" He chuckled. "Makes you wonder why Tsuna was nominated at all."

"Chew Toy's father was Nono's favourite nephew," Bel said promptly, "and along with being directly descended from Primo Vongola, your Sky is not aligned to any of the existing Alliance factions." So Don Vongola could twist the trash's perceptions of his fellow peasants at his leisure. Not that he needed to say that last bit out loud; Springer had enough Quality to pick it up on his own.

"Don't you mean 'is'?"

Bel snorted. "Do you really believe that narcissistic trash would have abandoned the position that validated his over-inflated self-image?" Iemitsu was dead; he wasn't sure who had done it yet but he would work it out and once he had, the Prince would grant them a royal reward. Boss agreed; it had been the best late Christmas present ever.

"Point," Springer admitted quietly. "Tsuna's more confused than grieving; I think he's mostly worried about how his mother will take it."

Bel could not see why it mattered that the scum was dead; it wasn't like the External Advisor spent any significant amount of time with the woman he'd married. Certainly not enough to make his marriage anything other than a pathetic farce.

"Will you be fighting again then?" he asked instead.

"Tsuna would rather not but Gokudera is all in favour," Springer said. "He's confident that 'Tenth will prevail' since after all, it's not like anybody the other Dons pick could possibly be stronger than the Varia and we beat them."

Bel snorted; Smokescreen clearly had no concept of how heavily the Varia had hamstrung themselves for those battles. "If I had been free to fight at my full strength I could have vaporised the trash in an _instant_ ," he said haughtily, "although Smokescreen would not have been worth the effort that would take; I _would_ however have shredded him. His blood would have vastly improved the décor at your stupid school."

"I know, I know; if it had been a real fight sempai would have skewered me in the first few seconds," Springer agreed with appropriate humility, "and Ryōhei wouldn't have lasted much longer, seeing what Lussuria can do with Flames."

"The boxer's corpse would even now be decorating Lussuria's bedroom," Bel agreed easily.

"Haha, so that wasn't just talk?"

Bel side-eyed the peasant from under his fringe. "No, it wasn't," he said lightly, "but Luss knows better than to pick people who'll be missed." The idiot Sun with no control would live to see thirty, provided of course he didn't kill himself out of carelessness or Stupid first.

Springer looked away out of the window; Bel enjoyed his momentary discomfort. Springer would change the subject shortly, probably to a discussion of their current location.

"Where are we?"

"We are coming up behind the Iron Fort, on the side away from the main road. We will turn off onto a track soon, which will take us up to within a ten minute walk of the edge of the gardens." The track was used by the gardeners to take home seedlings to sell on the side and wood felled from the trees to burn, as well as to arrive at work discreetly when Don Vongola had guests. Trade vans parked in plain view were unsightly after all.

"I didn't realise there were back ways in."

Bel snorted. "The Iron Fort has all manner of secret ways in and out, peasant; the early Vongola were more concerned with freedom of movement than impregnability and after becoming a criminal organisation having clear escape routes became all the more imperative. The External Advisor successfully invaded the building with a mere dozen subordinates, only one of them Flame-Active; that's how 'secure' it isn't."

Springer scratched his head sheepishly. "I never looked at it that way; now I feel dumb."

"The name is a recent one," Bel conceded, "that was picked up during World War Two; neither the fascists nor the Nazis nor the invading Allies ever stormed it, or even realised it was there; it stood unscathed throughout the many bombings and sheltered all manner of people from the surrounding countryside. Ottava Vongola was the iron queen of the Vongola Alliance during the war and her home was her stronghold; hence 'the iron fort.'

The Rain nodded thoughtfully as Bel turned off the road onto the promised track. "I've seen her painting and some of the photos but nobody talks about her much," he said idly. "Or any of the other previous Dons, other than Primo of course."

"Nono has made of Primo a saint on a pedestal, forgetting that he ran away ten years after founding the Vongo.a and left half his Guardians behind," Bel said, sniffing dismissively, "and all his successors were peasants, just as he was. Ambitious peasants with ideals, but still peasants and limited by their obsession with the status quo." None of the Vongola Dons had ever made an effort to truly _rule_ ; they just wanted to be overlooked by those in government office so they could manage their petty fiefdom uninterrupted.

"He left some of them behind?"

"You already knew he didn't take Daemon Spade," Bel pointed out dryly, "and Alaude refused to follow –he had other responsibilities he considered more pressing– but Lampo was simply abandoned; the Bovino are descended from one of his daughters, as are the Vezzini and the Lupo. The Ruffo on the other hand are his nephew's descendents; I think one of his granddaughters married back in though." Nobility did that and Lampo for all his buffoonery and foolishness as a young man had been noble, if not truly royal.

"Wasn't G married?"

"Yes, to the heiress of the Superbi Family," Bel agreed maliciously. "He abandoned her and their children in order to follow his Sky abroad; Pantera is a direct descendant, as is Squalo." So was Coyote, but the old fool that was Timoteo Vongola's Right Hand had long since disowned his family ties so did not deserve the privileges attendant to them.

"That was irresponsible of him."

"It's worse than that really; he later remarried in Japan," the Prince continued cheerfully, "and took on the family name of 'Gokudera.' Smokescreen is also descended from the faithless bigamist who loved his Sky more than anybody else, even his own spouses." He paused. "I wonder if they were lovers? It would explain a lot really."

"Is that why Reborn picked Gokudera to introduce to Tsuna?"

Springer really was very gratifyingly acute. "Very likely," Bel agreed; "it was never a secret in upper Vongola circles where their beloved Primo had gone and what he did in the years since. Letters were still exchanged between Secondo and his half-brother for as long as both lived, exchanging news and private details. Which is also why you were chosen, Springer; you are the heir of Asari's sword style and great-grandson of his granddaughter through your father."

"Haaa, really? I didn't know that."

Bel rolled his eyes behind his hair. "Your father certainly knows; have you never looked at the names in your family shrine, peasant?" Really, some people. "The boxer idiot is descended from Knuckle's younger sister, who he took with him to Japan; Rokudo may well be distantly related to Daemon Spade but Chrome is not; she is merely sufficiently similar to Rokudo for their souls to resonate, although she may also be related to him on the other side of his family. The Cloud-brat is also not at all related to Alaude; the resemblance there is in attitude." With that he parked the car. "And here we are, peasant."

Springer climbed out and staggered, swaying as his feet hit the gravel. "Whoops, my legs have cramped up," he said, voice tight past his fixed grin as he leaned heavily on the roof.

Bel huffed in a put-upon fashion, then climbed out of the driver's seat and walked around the front of the car to prod the apprentice. "Clearly you weren't drinking enough," he said dryly, "or performing a sufficient number of cool-down stretches." He produced a water bottle from his jacket and handed it over. "Here."

"Thanks Belphegor," Springer said, voice flat with suppressed pain as he gingerly stretched his legs, carefully opening the bottle. He then paused, a flicker of Flames dancing over his fingers. "Er, what's in it?"

"Water, peasant," Bel said blandly.

"Other than the water."

"Oh, wrong bottle," the Prince said cheerily, offering another identical-looking one. Springer put the lid back on the one in his hand and accepted the swap, once again checked its contents with Flames and this time actually drank.

Bel would have to tell Squ-sempai that his apprentice was being appropriately diligent in checking for poisons; he was sure the Rain would be very proud of his brat.

"So everybody's keeping busy and having fun then," Springer said, flexing his knees gingerly. Seeing as this was evidently a plea for distraction to take his mind off the pain, Bel decided to respond:

"No longer having to keep behaviour in line with Nono's delusions of civility is tremendously liberating; Boss is far more comfortable now he's well out of reach." And yes, that was Chew Toy approaching; interesting that he'd sensed his Rain despite Springer suppressing his Flames so diligently; had they actually bonded or was this just a convenient coincidence? "Don Vongola was always dismissing my Sky's worth and views, so it is very pleasing to see how much less irritable he is now he has the space to be himself."

"Sempai said he had friends now."

"It is much easier to meet like-minded people and make connections when they are not being poisoned against you by bullies in positions of authority," Bel said sweetly, knowing that the eavesdropping Sky would instantly connect Xanxus's demonization by Nono and his cronies with his own scholastic isolation and dismissal by his teachers; proper phrasing was key to implanting effective suggestions and manipulating the thoughts of peasants. "Mafia Land is surprisingly quiet for a holiday resort; it is entirely possible to avoid meeting tourists at all so long as you stay out of the funfair and commercial district."

"Who's there other than tourists then?"

"The people who work there full-time," Bel pointed out, "and those who visit for business, who are more numerous than one might think; a neutral area is much in demand for all manner of purposes. Negotiation, trade, losing pursuers; all kinds of people stop by and some decide to stay."

Chew Toy's Flames shuddered, then turned tight and sharp as he walked out of the trees with eyes luminously orange. "Belphegor, could you get me to Mafia Land?"

The Prince grinned widely as Springer went deadly still. "Ushishi… of course I could." What would happen after that would be up to Boss, but Bel was sure it would be highly entertaining. As would the fallout at the Vongola end over their precious Decimo emulating his ancestor: running away from responsibility to live on a hard-to-reach island.

"Will you?"

"Yes," Bel decided; it would be amusing after all.

"We should bring Chrome," Springer said, catching on instantly; "she'd help us stay hidden."

A sensible suggestion. "Squalo and I will depart from the port of Castellammare del Golfo at ten to five tomorrow morning, on the _Wind Ribbon_ ," he said cheerfully. "If you can conceal yourselves on board within the cargo containers, you will be transported with them to Mafia Land." He paused. "You will have to conceal your Flame signatures very tightly; the shark is extremely good at picking up on people who are out of place." The Mists doing the transporting wouldn't bat an eye at the unexpected human cargo, assuming that the Officers already knew it was there.

"Chrome will help," Springer repeated firmly, "and I can hide Tsuna. Rain is cohesive enough for that."

"I will give Kalk additional tips," Bel decided; it would make things more fun if they arrived undetected on Mafia Land rather than their being discovered along the way. "Be sure to pack everything you want to take with you." He smiled again. "There is a tunnel that leaves the Iron Fort through the wine cellar under the western end of the main building and leads all the way to Camporeale; from the point it surfaces it is possible to see the bell tower of a small deserted church. In the basement of that church is another tunnel that leads all the way to the hillside overlooking Castellammare del Golfo; you will have to use Flames to move quickly within the tunnels, but Housekeeping's security will not alert anybody to your departure through them."

"Thank you," Chew Toy said serenely; Bel would put good money on him having a panic attack as soon as he stopped using his Dying Will as a crutch; hopefully the Prince would be there to see it. "Until tomorrow morning then."

"Ushishi, don't be late."

* * *

It was so _fascinating_ to watch Chew Toy and his little minions scurry around the Iron Fort, doing their best to avoid suspicion as they prepared to run away. All the more fascinating was what they _didn't_ do; for instance, none of them said a word to Smokescreen to insinuate anything was afoot. Not that the trash would have noticed –he was too busy jawing about scheduling and how current employment practices were _inefficient_ as though free time was something peasants didn't desperately need for their health– but still. It did paint a picture.

A picture Bel had suspected the existence of, but confirmation was always so gratifying. It meant he could do away with the parasite and nobody would complain about it. Well, nobody would complain so long as his death was both plausible and seemingly unrelated to the Prince, which would not be at all challenging. Peasants thought that the Prince was only capable of killing messily with his knives, utterly disregarding his genius and Quality.

Belphegor had raised an eyebrow at the trash's frankly spotty medical history back when he'd first investigated the parasite for the Ring Battles; his sister specialised in Poison Cooking and had fed it to him regularly as a child, yet he'd never had his kidneys or liver checked over for damage? Victims of Poison Cooking murder attempts were _always_ rushed into Medical to ensure there'd been no serious long-term damage done, but this brat had just suffered, then been left to his own devices? Trident Shamal might have specialised in diseases rather than toxicology, but he should still have given his ward a proper check-up. Or at least taken Smokescreen to a neutral hospital if he didn't want to do it himself.

Never mind that the Stupid trash _smoked_ ; exacerbating the damage, no doubt. As would all the instant food he ate because he couldn't cook and didn't trust other people to cook for him half the time.

Bel might not have been a Mist, but he'd paid Vahn to take a Look at Smokescreen's nephrological health shortly before they all retired and had determined that the parasite's kidney function was abysmal. One working at fifty-five percent and the other barely topping out at twenty? And the trash was chain-smoking and eating cheap garbage heavy in preservatives and salt? As well as not sleeping properly, breathing the fumes from his home-made explosives –which of course he never wore even improvised protective gear while making as he originally couldn't afford it and later didn't think he needed because he'd always been fine– and his frankly pitiful control over his internal Flames aggravating matters?

Smokescreen would have been lucky to live to see twenty-five, never mind thirty. It was so sad really; if he'd taken better care of himself the Prince would never had been handed such a perfect opportunity. There were a number of completely natural compounds that were mildly nephrotoxic and did nothing at all to people with healthy kidneys –rhubarb for instance– and before even leaving the country with Boss Bel had subtly influenced Vongola Housekeeping into cooking more rhubarb dishes and seasoning various meals with asarabacca rather than with ginger; after all, the flavour was much the same and the former grew in the gardens, so it was far easier to source…

The parasite's kidneys would be suffering even more than usual as a result, so it wouldn't take much to destroy them entirely while making it look like an accident. A little bit of orellanine added to his food would do it; the symptoms were identical to the common flu, so Smokescreen would assume that was what the problem was, and by the time he realised otherwise it would be too late.

Bel didn't much care whether the parasite ended up dependent on daily kidney dialysis or died on his own bedroom floor; either way he'd no longer be able to pretend he was Chew Toy's Right Hand. If he survived physically he'd still be broken mentally by his inability to fulfil his dreams and that would be deliciously poetic. Never mind the knock-on effects should the parasite die; his older sister cared for him and had a documented inability to control herself when emotional.

There Smokescreen was, staying up late and poring over paperwork with a plate of food congealing beside him and a cup of tepid coffee. Bel dosed both –the coffee with the orellanine and the food with a Flame inhibitor to ensure the poison wouldn't just be burned out; trash didn't even notice he was the room– and then sat back to wait. If the parasite didn't eat or drink anything he'd have to burn the poison away so it wouldn't be detected, but… no, trash drank the coffee. And gobbled the cold food, then rang for a servant so he could complain about it being cold, like he hadn't ignored his meal for two hours in favour of fussing over Security scheduling that didn't need him 'fixing' what wasn't broken.

The parasite had sealed his fate; Bel silently left and headed back to Castellammare del Golfo to sleep for a few hours before tomorrow's early start. He would have to be fresh in order to assist Springer and Kalk in Chew Toy's great escape.

* * *

It was a relief to get back to Mafia Land; much as he loved his family, Squalo didn't trust Timoteo Vongola as far as little Thierry could throw him. Power corrupted after all and Nono had been leader and dictator of the Vongola Alliance for more than half his lifetime. Never mind that he had proof of at least a dozen occasions where the man had deliberately and knowingly broken the rules he held the rest of the Family to; better to be out of reach altogether.

"Vooi, I'm going to find Maínomai," he declared, shoving a loose lock behind his ear. It was so irritating seeing something dark in his peripheral vision, tensing up and then realising it was his own hair; hence why he'd tied it back while sparring, but even so it was still annoying. Sure, the Mist had made so he could switch the colour off but that didn't remove the Alteration framework from his scalp.

"Who's unpacking the cargo?" Bel asked idly.

Squalo took a moment to mentally call up the schedule on his office wall. "Mahi, since he's taking the container back north afterwards."

"Efficient," the Storm agreed. "Shouldn't he be here already?"

Squalo paused to side-eye his fellow Guardian suspiciously. Bel was not usually so interested in the inner workings of 'peasant' enterprises, which trade most certainly counted as. "It's what, a quarter to eleven here?" One hour ahead of Sicily and the same time as South Africa –for now at least– which had been their previous stop all of five minutes ago. "We were scheduled to arrive at five past eleven, so we're early." It was important to put a bit of wiggle room into scheduling when there was actual physical shipping involved; port machinery could develop faults and berths could be inconveniently placed. Better for goods to arrive earlier than they were scheduled to than for deliveries to be late.

"Not so early your apprentice shouldn't be setting up."

"Vooi, it takes barely five minutes!" Squalo growled as he set off out of the building. "He'll clock in at five to, as usual, and his Squad will have everything unpacked and delivered within the hour, _as usual_. Stop nit-picking." What was up with the Storm today? Had he not got enough sleep? He'd been being snide and irritating ever since they left Superbi Hall at twenty past four this morning. Which admittedly _was_ early, but it wasn't like it had been a _surprise_. Bel had known that part since before they even left Mafia Land last week!

Bel grinned, visibly smug at having got under his colleague's skin, and finally changed the subject: "Are we talking to Boss about our discoveries before lunch?"

"Yeah, let's get it over with." The sooner he could bitch and ramble at their Sky about various family goings-on and Springer being cheeky the sooner Xanxus would settle and be reassured that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He'd talked to the man every day while in Sicily –twice a day at least in fact– but he'd still been able to hear how little his Sky liked that two of his Guardians were waltzing around within reach of Nono Vongola while there was nothing he could do should anything go amiss.

Squalo was still getting his hair fixed first though.

* * *

The shark was complaining dramatically at him over the wedding anniversary gift he'd been asked to deliver to Pantera on Xanxus's behalf –"a Box Weapon masquerading as a puzzle box, seriously?! I just about had a heart attack when he tried to use Flames to get a feel for the internal mechanisms and it spat out a fucking _panther_ , asshole"– when Xanxus sensed somebody coming inside the Wards that _should not_ have been there. Rising abruptly to his feet he strode out of the lounge, Squalo and Bel getting up and falling in behind him without question, stalked through the ground floor public rooms and into the hall just as the interlopers walked in through the front door, Mahi looming behind them.

"Stowaways, Boss, Captain," the massive Rain said apologetically.

Yes, Xanxus could fucking _see_ that. "The _fuck_ are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

Chew Toy looked him squarely in the eye, his Hands flanking him. "When I said I didn't want to be Vongola boss," he said calmly, eyes glimmering orange, "I _meant_ it."

Squalo looked from the trio to Bel and promptly exploded. "VOOII! You _knew_! You were being an annoying little shit on _purpose_!"

"Ushishi, why would the Prince not assist Chew Toy in emulating his ancestor?"

This was the _last thing_ Xanxus wanted to have to deal with right now. Florrie would be here in a little over a week and he did _not_ want Chew Toy anywhere _near_ her, not when the likeliest outcome of this was some Vongola delegation breaking down his door and accusing him of abducting their precious Decimo, Smokescreen in the lead throwing explosives everywhere.

He drew one of his guns and fired a warning shot off to the side, between Bel and Squalo's faces; they both froze. "Shut up, trash." What to do with them in the short term… "Shark, they're bunking with you." Should somebody Vongola show up in the next forty-eight hours Xanxus would _throw_ Chew Toy at them; Squalo's apartment was the most accessible other than his own and he wasn't letting them in _there_. Plus Springer was shark's apprentice and the young Rain was _definitely_ the mastermind here.

"Yes Boss," shark agreed sullenly, evidently following his reasoning exactly.

"Bel, tell Housekeeping." Prince the Ripper could explain to Tyrant and his people why they suddenly had three unexpected semi-civvie guests to cater for in addition to all their other responsibilities.

"Yes Boss."

Xanxus turned back to Chew Toy and his associates. "You I will deal with _after_ lunch."

Trash had the gall to nod. "Of course."

Fuck him, seriously; Xanxus stayed where he was and glared at everybody as shark herded the kiddie trio into his apartment, complaining loudly as he did about personal space and needing extra beds and having to pay Mammon to add another bedroom and bathroom. Once the door was closed and Bel had slunk off to confess his misdeeds to Tyrant, Xanxus holstered his gun and turned to Mahi.

"Specifics."

"They were hiding in one of the cargo containers," the Squad Leader explained immediately; "Springer was encapsulating Chew Toy's Flames completely and Kalk was obscuring them both, so I'm not surprised Captain overlooked it. My two Mists almost didn't notice and they were actually _in_ the container moving things. Springer says Rokudo is puppeteering decoys and laying false leads and that Belphegor claimed to have burnt out their trail, so it might take a while for them to be traced here. They're going to look in Japan first, I should think, seeing as that's where he's from and where his mother still is." The Rain paused. "I think if he wants to go back or they come for him inside a fortnight you could spin it as grief making him irrational, what with his father having dropped off the face of the earth and nobody giving him time to process, but if he's still here once Mafia Land goes into isolation in early June the Vongola will probably implode before we come out the far side. Quiet's Week's not so far off after all. Kalk disguised them before leaving the shipping container and only removed the illusion once they were inside the Wards here, so nobody saw their real faces on the way over."

Xanxus did not think Chew Toy would want to leave; tiny, well buried and much-ignored though they were, the trash _did_ have survival instincts. Instincts which had brought him _here_ , to the only person he knew of who'd successfully escaped the long arm of the Vongola.

Well fuck.

"Cargo?"

"Squad's still unloading it Boss; thought I should get this lot to you asap."

Fair; Xanxus gifted Mahi with an approving nod then turned and walked into his own apartment, locking the door behind him before sliding down it to sit on the floor and pushing his hair out of his face with a sigh.

He'd give Chew Toy a shot at getting his head out of his own ass; if the trash couldn't knuckle down and face up to reality then he'd kick the brat out. This was _his_ Family after all and he owed Chew Toy nothing.

Fuck but he _desperately_ needed a drink.

* * *

"Florrie. Got a minute?"

His Cloud hummed down the phone. "Well I'm revising for an exam tomorrow afternoon, but I could probably stand to take a break and make more tea."

Florrie was wonderful. He didn't deserve her. "Thank you. Love you."

"Love you too. What's up?"

Xanxus took a deep breath and tried to get his thoughts in order. "Remember what I told you about the old fart's heir?"

"He doesn't want to inherit and isn't making much of an effort to learn about the family business, but that shit is ignoring his preferences and setting him up to inherit anyway. And you think he's going to ruin everybody." Florrie paused; in the background there was the sound of a tap running. "That cover it?"

It was nice to have _proof_ his Cloud listened to him and remembered what he'd said, even years later. "Yes. All that." He took a deep breath. "Trash showed up here. Covertly. Ran away."

"O-kay." The tap was turned off. "So what's the issue?"

"He's _here_!" Xanxus ran a hand roughly through his hair and tried to find the right words. "I don't _want_ him here; the old fart's been leaving me alone so far –I'm not sure he actually knows where I _am_ even though Visconti clearly did– but he's going to pull out all the stops to hunt Chew Toy down and that'll bring him here eventually, if only to hire extra help." He huffed. "I don't even _like_ the trash."

There was the scrape of a chair over tile and a soft sigh. "What aren't you telling me?"

He leaned back against a bookcase and closed his eyes. "He ran. Might not really understand _why_ he ran just yet, but he did it. He got out. And he came to _me_? Just, why _me_? He _knows_ I can't stand him."

"Xanxus…" A clink of crockery. "Where _else_ could he have gone?"

Yeah. That. "Nobody and nowhere else that wouldn't have either ransomed him or sold him out to _somebody_ ," he admitted grudgingly. "But still! How was he to know _I_ wouldn't do that?"

A soft chuckle. "Xanxus, he probably knows you hate that shit who raised you; you've not been quiet about it, have you?" She did have a point there; he hummed agreement. "Okay, so he may not understand _why,_ but he knows you hate the old fart. And you left the Family and managed to actually get _out_ , which I get the impression is not something most people manage to do."

"No," he conceded. He had achieved it by having strong blood-ties to a non-Alliance Family and the money to arrange a place to go where the old fart couldn't strong-arm him politically.

"So if he really does want to get away and stay away, where else _would_ he go but to somebody who had already successfully escaped?"

Xanxus felt his shoulders sag; so effing reasonable. "Still can't stand him," he muttered bitterly.

"Is that to do with him personally or to do with what that shit did to you through him?"

Good question. Not one he could quite untangle right now though; that would take some serious thought as he'd not really articulated _why_ Chew Toy pissed him off so badly. "Six of one, half-a-dozen of the other," he prevaricated.

"Okay. Right. Well, what would you do for a total stranger who'd been through what this kid's been through and showed up at your door?"

An easier question; what _would_ he do for an unknown Sky who'd been led around by the nose by the old fart, bullied and manipulated into the mould of the scum's idea of a 'perfect' successor by a thousand unacknowledged micro-aggressions but who had managed to get their act together for long enough to run for the hills before the axe fell?

"Give them breathing space," he admitted slowly. "Listen to them. Share enough to validate them. Help them question the shit the old fart insinuated into their worldview. Hide them if his men came calling before they'd decided what to do next."

"Then that's what your decent minimum is," Florrie said lightly. "That's what you wouldn't forgive yourself for _not_ doing. You don't have to do any more than that."

He didn't even want to do _that_ much for Chew Toy, but she was right; if he didn't he'd regret it later. "He'd better not expect me to be _nice_ to him," he grumbled.

His Cloud snorted. "If he knows you at all he won't," she said wryly. "I love you dearly, Xanxus, but you're not _nice_."

He hummed; it was true and he wasn't ashamed of it. "True. Thanks."

"Glad I could help; how're you feeling?"

"Better. You?"

"Well the studying is stressful and I never know how my exams have gone, but I've only got two more to go so that's something."

"Looking forward to seeing you."

"Me too; an entire month of lying around and letting your people feed me sounds _wonderful_."

"My cooking doesn't count?"

"Your cooking is lovely, Xanxus, but you cook for me because you want to, not because it's your job; your housekeeping people have it as their job so you don't _have_ to do it. I want visiting you to be your holiday too, not for you to feel obliged to do things because I'm there."

"Like cooking for you; s'fun." She was tremendously appreciative and it made all the effort worthwhile.

"Well in that case I shall eagerly look forward to you spoiling me."

Xanxus felt his lips twitch; his Cloud was adorable and also a shameless mooch when she felt she could get away with it. "Love you. Bye."

"You too, bye, see you soon!"

He hung up and pocketed his phone, feeling much more grounded now he'd articulated things. He liked the idea of a 'decent minimum'; he'd have to remember that. He'd also have to put some serious thought into what it was exactly about Chew Toy that pissed him off so badly; it wasn't _just_ that the old fart had handed the brat everything Xanxus had ever worked for and the trash's high-handed yet shallow morals that he judged everybody else by.

Something for later; right now it was lunchtime and he should order something from the kitchens.


	9. Chapter 9

It's over! This is the last chapter! The saga is complete!

* * *

 **Pick up the pieces (and rebuild)**

After lunch –which he ate privately– Xanxus moved to his new office and collared a passing assassin to go fetch Chew Toy. The trash showed up decently quickly, eyes still glowing faintly orange.

"Xanxus."

"Stop leaning on your Dying Will, trash," he ordered shortly.

"Why?"

"It makes your focus narrow and you're careless of the details because you're not thinking things through; most things don't _need_ to be done with your Dying Will. Most things are in fact done _better_ if you're not rushing through them like it's the last thing you're ever going to do. Dying Will Mode is survival only; covers the basics but utter shit for more complex situations." He glared across the desk. "This is not life or death; deal with it normally like everybody else does."

The orange faded slowly from trash's eyes; it was swiftly replaced by doubt and self-recrimination.

"Sit," Xanxus said shortly, waving at the chair. Chew Toy sat, emotions and Flames fluttering wildly. "So what do you want?"

"What do I… want?" the trash repeated faintly.

Xanxus sighed loudly. "You _don't_ want to be Decimo, or neo-Primo or whatever that pushy tutor of yours was dressing it up as; fine. You left. You're not going to be. So what _do_ you want?" Brat wasn't wearing the modified Vongola Ring either; had he left it behind? It seemed the kind of dramatic statement he'd make to underline his defection. Also surprisingly practical: the Vongola could arrange a replacement Decimo without hunting down the trash first.

Well it seemed he'd managed to confuse Chew Toy out of a panic attack, for the time being at least. "I… don't know?"

"Think about it," Xanxus ordered flatly. "Not what you _can_ do; what you _want_ to do, money and education no object." He paused to get a more comprehensive feel for trash's Flames; really hadn't been taught shit since the Ring Battles, had he? "Can conceal you here for a bit but you've got to earn your keep and learn to hide your Flames."

"What kind of work?" Trash looked like he was expecting to be asked to commit murder; hah no. Trash wasn't even within an artillery strike's range of Quality.

"Housekeeping," Xanxus said ruthlessly. "Cleaning, laundry, feeding the cats; got a problem with that?" His scholastic performance might have been shit, but brat was perfectly capable of practical domestic work.

"N-no."

"Good. Tyrant is Head of Housekeeping; your contract will be with him, not with me. He's also a Sky, so he'll teach you what he thinks you need to know; you're underage still, so by signing on with him you'll have him _in loco parentis_. The contract makes it explicitly clear what's expected of you and what's expected of him in return; any questions, just ask." Trash looked dazed by the speed at which everything was happening; what, had he expected to be allowed to curl up in a corner and mope for weeks on end? Life wasn't like that for adults; most people couldn't afford it and Xanxus had no intention of allowing that sort of behaviour in another, much less himself. Even while depressed he had done things other than lounge around, like his university work and some Flame-Tech designs that he'd had a go at creating once he was feeling better.

"W-what about Chrome? Takeshi?" Thinking about his Guardians was a good sign though.

"Rain's already officially shark's apprentice, so he's free to do whatever shark lets him," Xanxus said dismissively. "Mist can sign on with Tyrant too if she likes; Rokudo likely to show up?"

"I th-think so? I mean, he won't stay at the Vongola. He might go back to Namimori though."

Yeah, no; Rokudo would come here eventually, because if he was here he couldn't get roped into the inevitable manhunt. Question was, would he bring his minions? "He's an adult so he'll have to sign on a regular contract with either me or Tyrant, or else get work elsewhere on the island. There's no room for freeloaders; want to eat, you work."

"Y-you're not going to ask why I left?"

Xanxus met Chew Toy's eyes steadily. "Already made that clear," he said levelly, "though if you want to ask about the old fart, I'm right here. Same where your father's concerned; I saw a lot of Iemitsu growing up." He paused. "Want to talk about shit they said or did, that's fine too. If you want to talk or ask about Reborn though, see the shark; he's got experience."

"Squalo knows Reborn?"

"Squalo spent most of two years in the same class as the horse while Reborn was tutoring him," Xanxus said dryly; "with the little shit trying to drag him into being horse's Guardian." Something Xanxus only knew about because his baby brother had mentioned it; shark very tellingly _never_ talked about how he and horse knew each-other. "Shark knows _all_ about the shenanigans."

Chew Toy looked both intimidated and vaguely reassured. "Erm, can I think? About the Housekeeping thing?"

"Got until Saturday morning, trash." The Vongola probably would have noticed their Heir was missing by then, although they'd probably start by looking for him closer to home. Kalk and Springer also being missing –or also being illusions depending on what Rokudo was doing– meant that people would probably think they were off doing something together, possibly taking a few days off or visiting one of the Dons discreetly. Or even off having sex together somewhere private; teenagers after all. Realising he was actually _missing_ would take longer.

"Th-thank you."

"Now go away."

Trash left; Xanxus leaned back in his chair and worked the tension out of his shoulders; that hadn't gone so badly.

It probably would have gone worse if Tyrant hadn't agreed beforehand to hide Chew Toy under his wing if the trash agreed to it, but Tyrant had and so Xanxus didn't have to think about it. Chew Toy would either sign on as Housekeeping and be bound to appropriate secrecy or he'd be out on his ass by the end of the week; either way Florrie would be safe from both loose-lipped trash and Vongola machinations and that was what mattered.

* * *

It was Monday morning and Maínomai was playing mahjong with Mjölnir, Trol and Orphnaeus in one of the breakfast rooms, Schön and the former Aethon –who had gone back to using Blindé since retiring to Housekeeping a few years back– sat on the floor petting Bester. The liger was lazily allowing the contact, tail swishing idly from time to time in enjoyment.

These three Chinese Lightnings had taught Maínomai to play mahjong –two different versions– and he liked doing it with them; nobody at the Varia had played the game at all until Squalo brought back sixteen Chinese Apprentices on his world tour, who between them played five different variants of the game. It had got popular fairly quickly –among the Mists in particular– as a change from the usual card games, so now just about everybody knew how to play one or two versions.

Maínomai knew all the variants and had come up with a few new ones, to ring the changes. Of course it being a game with points scored meant that everybody cheated relentlessly unless point-scoring was explicitly barred –scoring by number of wins rather than by points– and even then people did try to cheat a bit. Especially if the game was to determine who got first choice of loot or who had to get up to fetch the next round of drinks.

Nobody in the Varia –or the now-former Varia– ever played for money within Mammon's Territories. Doing so meant that the former Arcobaleno would somehow join the game and clear everybody out without being recognised until it was too late, then lecture the other players on 'wasting their money'. They even showed up when chocolate coins were the money being played for –it had been tested and proven– so nowadays people played for monopoly money –which the miser wasn't interested in since it had no value– favours, sweets or other trivial stakes. Like 'gets to pick what we're playing next' or 'first pick out of the box of chocolates.'

The only time nobody cheated was when everybody around the table agreed they were playing exclusively to pass the time; then the point of the game was the process not the victory, so cheating was 'ruining the experience.' Which was the kind of game Maínomai was playing now; he and the others didn't have anything else to do today and this was a way to pass the time without getting into trouble. It didn't mean they wouldn't play as hard and as strategically as they could; just that they weren't cheating.

Blindé also had a little camera attached to his head and was filming Bester's lazy pleasure at being fussed over. The liger had taken a shine to Mjölnir and had been making play difficult until the petite Lady had called Schön on her phone and she'd come to join them; Bester had then demonstrated that he liked both Lightning Ladies equally and been more than happy to be fussed over by the redhead instead.

Seeing as the last person Bester had taken such an overt liking to had been Patience, Maínomai had discreetly texted Raas to put his name down for Boss bonding with one or other of the Lightning Ladies inside the next six months. The former General Manager's reply made it clear he'd not noticed this yet, so Maínomai would get a cut of all bets as the person founding the pool; a nice bonus really.

It was eleven o'clock and it was incredibly quiet; there'd been no running and shouting in the hallways, no public fights, no messy pranks. It was almost suspicious, except that Patience was due to arrive today and Boss was in a really good mood as a result, which nobody wanted to ruin. Boss's good moods might be less rare than they used to be, but they were still elusive and Chew Toy showing up a week and a half ago had shortened the Sky's temper perceptibly.

It was a good thing Tyrant had taken the younger Sky on as a project –and made the teenager his personal Apprentice– and was keeping him out from underfoot, otherwise Boss would probably be significantly more trigger-happy right now. Maínomai had glimpsed Chew Toy in the rooftop garden and in the grounds a few times, but there were no traces of him anywhere in the main thoroughfares. According to rumour Tyrant was planning on putting Chew Toy –as well as Springer and Kalk– through some more academic work over the upcoming month or two, depending on what and how much they knew. It would also have the benefit of keeping all three of them busy and away from Patience, for all that the latter two might actually encounter her in the halls.

Springer was rather more visible than the younger two, trailing after Captain or negotiating the trap fields on various hallways, occasionally with Kalk alongside him offering tips, but he also avoided the ground floor as much as possible. As did Kalk actually; she'd really shot up since getting her organs and finally looked like she'd reached a healthy weight. Maínomai had worried about that –fake organs meant the possibility of not getting the trace elements you needed for long-term good health– but clearly she'd recovered well and Luss was still checking up on her, so if there _were_ any problems they'd be nipped in the bud.

"So how's work going, Maínomai?" Orpnaeus asked, drawing a tile and discarding another.

"Very well; I'm getting lots of contracts," the Mist replied cheerfully. "My broker is grumpy about the cut she's getting, but that's her fault for not thinking I'd do as well as I have and deciding she wanted a set fee per mission rather than a percentage like I offered her to begin with."

"How much of a fee?"

"Well for scale, her fee is sixty percent of the lowest rate the Acquisitions Interchange accepts and forty percent of the average second-band rate, which is what the majority of missions come in as. However I'm well up in eighth-band now and by that point mission value is increasing exponentially by band, so she's getting barely two percent, if that." Maínomai grinned. "I offered her a flat tenth and she turned it down so she only has herself to blame." He might be a little flaky but he was Varia Quality regardless of that; ignoring that fact in favour of a first impression was just Belle-Dame being wilfully obtuse. Or possibly merely overly cynical.

Trol snickered, discarding a tile.

"What about you three? What are you doing?"

"Cage fights," Mjölnir chirped, drawing a tile. "Probably won't be much business in the off-season, but I've made enough money to tide me over; I get a cut of house profit on bets."

"Matches are rigged I assume?"

The petite Lightning shrugged. "Of course. It's about spectacle, not strength; it's an interesting challenge."

"Peri's set up a horror-themed club in the business district," Trol shared, "which Redcap's done the Wards of and gone to town on the decoration for him. I do door duty sometimes; a surprising number of people keep coming back, despite absolutely everybody fleeing the building screaming at some point before closing time."

Peri specialised in nightmarish hallucinations on par with any bad drug trip. "I guess some people like that kind of thing?" Maínomai ventured. "Unless it's them being macho and trying to get used to it?" Which wouldn't work; Peri's Mist-tricks hit the hindbrain terror switch directly rather than relying on the brain to hit it for him.

"I don't know and don't care," Trol said frankly, "but the money's good and some tourists apparently love it so much they're telling all their friends."

"We're doing less work with Security now Colonnello's left," Orphnaeus said, meaning Dark Horse when he said 'we,' "So Dīs signed us up with the new Pruning Service and set up a contract translation business as a spinoff of what Boss is doing." The 'Pruning Service' was the assassination cooperative Bel and Kuchisake were running.

"Sounds interesting," Maínomai admitted, drawing a tile.

"It's a pain; local translators are all grumpy about us 'disrupting the market'," the young Lightning groused, using air-quotes to make it clear how little he thought of said people's opinion. "Dīs is probably going to arrange something with one of them, just because that way we'll have an in and somebody who already knows all the other local assholes who is nominally on our side." He huffed. "I don't like any of them though."

"Fuck, ally with, kill?" Quite a lot of people were using the ranking system Boss had introduced to him these days, frequently facetiously but often practically.

"Yeah, we tried that," Orphnaeus agreed, "and found ourselves undecided between three equally shitty options. We may have to borrow a Persephone to get an inside look at motives and methods before deciding on someone specific." Dark Horse, like all Immortal Squads, had a number of idiosyncratic foibles and calling Mists 'Persephones' was one of theirs.

"Tell Dīs I don't mind," Maínomai offered, discarding a tile.

"Mahjong," Trol said abruptly, laying out his tiles and picking up the Mist's discard. There were theatrical sighs from Orphnaeus and Mjölnir as they also knocked their tiles over, Maínomai doing likewise and mentally tallying up points.

"Mjölnir loses," he said, turning all the tiles over and shuffling them as the twenty-one-year-old got to her feet and stretched.

"Okay, who wants what?"

"Huangjin Gui," Trol said instantly.

"Mengding Ganlu," Orphnaeus decided after a pause.

"Hot chocolate," Maínomai said, "with cream, please." As Mafia Land drifted southwards the air was getting cooler –it was currently autumn in the southern hemisphere– and it was therefore definitely hot chocolate weather.

" _Limonata_ please, _martelita_ ," Schön said, glancing up from the liger in her arms.

"Just water for me, please," Blindé added, not looking away from Bester –the camera would have followed the movement– but signing 'star' at the petite Lightning.

"Golden osmanthus oolong, sweet dew green, hot chocolate, lemonade and water, plus marsala chai for me." Mjölnir nodded and walked out to fetch the drinks, which involved finding the nearest intercom and talking to Housekeeping. There were only three in the expanded Territory –they could only be installed on real walls– so anybody wanting drinks had to go to one to make their request. Hence the new trend of having whoever had lost a round of a game do it.

Having finished shuffling, Maínomai absently lined up all the tiles ready to deal again, then realised what he was doing and very deliberately took his hands off the table. It wasn't fair to deal while one person was out of the room.

"So have you decided on a job yet, Schön?"

"Boss has made me secretary of his negotiation business," the Brazilian Lightning said quietly, fingers digging into Bester's short mane, "so that calls can be fielded and appointments made in his absence. I have an official office in the satellite building and blanket permission to toss out anybody who treats me disrespectfully." She smiled softly. "Mostly he's paying me to be available during the agreed office hours, which aren't that long anyway, so I generally take basketwork to fill the time with."

Schön's baskets were beautiful and extremely well-made; Mafia Land had no shortage of palm fronds and grasses for harvesting, so a lot of the materials were even freely available. They were sold through Housekeeping –or else bought _by_ Housekeeping and Flame-treated for various purposes– and made her a tidy income on the side. She also had a lap loom she wove patterned scarves on, but those took her longer and were correspondingly more expensive.

Maínomai was just about to ask what she'd made recently when Bester's ears twitched and he rose to his feet, disengaging from Schön and loping out of the room. Blindé immediately gave chase; Maínomai made eye-contact with Schön –who looked puzzled– and got to his feet, following after at a more leisurely pace. All three other Lightnings joined him, meeting Mjölnir in the corridor and adding her to their little party.

When they all arrived in the front hall the liger's reason for leaving was clear: there was a suitcase standing off to one side, Boss was sniggering and Patience was sat on the floor with legs splayed and sunglasses pushed up over her hair, arms around Bester's neck as he filled her lap and nuzzled her face, making hilariously undignified chuffs –neighing sneeze sounds– interspersed with happy throaty wheezes, tail waving excitedly.

"You're happy to see me, aren't you?" Patience crooned, chuckling as the liger head-butted her in the chest and knocked her off-balance backwards. "Careful!"

Bester shuffled further on top of her, completely covering her body and resting his paws on her shoulders, pinning her flat on the floor as he nosed at her face, still making those ridiculous happy sneezy noises.

"Get you out of the hallway," Boss said, grin bright as he glanced from the spectacle his Box Weapon was making to the gathered audience, including Blindé whose camera was likely still rolling. "Bester, off."

The liger ignored him completely. The Sky rolled his eyes, crouched down and grabbed Patience under the armpits, pulling her out from under the half-tonne Box Weapon and throwing her over his shoulder all in the same movement.

"Oof!" the Cloud gasped, hands clutching at the back of Boss's belt as he turned to grab her suitcase. Bester instantly lumbered off the floor, bounced over to nuzzle Patience's face –which was level with his– and trotted after Boss as the Sky headed into his apartment, so as to stay nose to nose with Cloud still flung over the man's shoulder, still chuffing.

The door closed behind the little cavalcade, the lock clicking.

"You know, everybody always talks about how much Bester likes Patience," Fracasso drawled, "but I think we were maybe understating it." Implied was that a Box Weapon reflected its owner's temperament; the idea of Boss being that completely delighted by his Cloud visiting made Maínomai want to coo. Except that would be a terribly unsafe thing to do.

Still, Bester didn't react like that to any of Boss's _other_ Guardians!

* * *

Setting Florrie on the carpet in front of his sofa, Xanxus sniggered as Bester instantly resumed his enthusiastic greeting. The Sky then headed into the bedroom to put the suitcase out of the way, glanced back through the hall to see if the liger had calmed down yet –nope– and then quickly scanned his shelves for something they could do while sitting on the floor with a lapful of big cat.

His gaze settled on Grandma's photo albums.

Okay, yes. He'd looked through them already –and read the letters she'd left him– so there weren't any surprises there. Just the occasional tender spot. Florrie would let him gloss over those though and she'd be interested in the family anecdotes and how far back the photographs went, so he should share. There were fewer painful pitfalls in the historical albums, so he should start there.

Picking up all four of said albums, Xanxus headed back into the living room. A good quarter of these pictures were photographs of earlier daguerreotypes and ambrotypes, which were all buried in the Vongola Archives somewhere. Probably in Mist-managed cold storage; one of Grandma's letters said that she'd taken all those photographs herself, so that more people could have access to prints of what the earlier generations of the Family had looked like. Xanxus had no idea where the other prints had gone, but he'd inherited two suitcases full of glass and film negatives as well as the albums, so he could always print more if he wanted.

Settling himself on the carpet –not the leopard one she'd given him for Christmas; that was in his bedroom– Xanxus shoved Bester aside so he could sit next to Florrie and opened the first album. "Grandma left me her albums," he said. "Photos of the Family going back to the eighteen-forties; those were daguerreotypes, but she photographed them herself to make for easier viewing."

There were no photos of Primo with his Guardians –his defection predated the invention of the photography process– but there were some excellent etchings which Grandma had prints of and some careful and relatively recent colour photos of the official paintings. Those were much later on in the albums though.

Florrie leaned into him, still idly scratching Bester behind the ears as she looked down at the first page. "So who're these guys then?"

Xanxus pointed to the central portrait, of a man he did rather strongly resemble in a dark jacket, necktie and shirt. "Ricardo Vongola," he waved at the other portraits on the page, "and Guardians. Matteo Marino," the grinning sailor in the top left corner, a Cloud, "Agnese Floris," the woman centre left, a Sun, "Francois Sebastien Louis-Philippe Leroy-Moreau," the Lightning in the bottom left and the most intricately dressed, "Daemon Spade," top right, facial expression bland yet somehow unsettling, "Iphis Superbi, his second wife," also his Storm Guardian, just as Secondo's first wife Maria Simon had been, "and Ugochukwu Chukwuemeka." Rain Guardian and born into slavery, but liberated at a fairly young age by the Vongola and one of the first properly documented cases of snap-bonding.

"Interesting mix of names."

Xanxus hummed; Secondo's grab-bag of Guardians was almost more interesting than Primo's had been, including as it did two –well technically three– women. "The Frenchman with the interminable name was a nobleman whose parents got him out of France as a child, returned during the eighteen-fourteen restoration and then when Napoleon escaped Elba decided he liked being outside France better," he shared. "Agnese was his accountant; she was married to one of Primo's men but he died, so she was one of the first recipients of the Vongola's pensions for widows and orphans." It was the stories that made these people fascinating really. "Iphis Superbi was technically a merchant captain, but in reality she was more of a privateer; her ship rescued Secondo's from pirates three years after his first wife died and it was love at first sight."

"I feel that says a lot more about him than it does about her," Florrie commented. "And this guy?" She tapped the smirking Cloud.

"Matteo Marino; first Guardian. Ran into him in Palermo aged fourteen –Secondo was fourteen; Matteo was twenty-five– and followed him home." Also possibly a snap-bond, but not documented because that had been right about the time Primo had founded the Vongola properly and there'd been too much of everything else going on for anybody to pay their new Don's oldest half-brother's new minion any mind.

"And the African gentleman with the name I don't think I can do justice to?"

"Ugochukwu Chukwuemeka," Xanxus repeated, "of the Igbo people. His mother was a slave in Egypt; Secondo rescued him off a Mediterranean slave ship aged nine." History did not mention Ugo's father, which implied the man had probably been his mother's owner. "Secondo was sixteen or seventeen by then; he promptly led a raid on the city Ugo had been sold from, killed a load of slave owners and liberated their slaves, including Ugo's mother." What had happened to her was also not mentioned; she could have died or gone home to her family or simply retired to Vongola Housekeeping and vanished into obscurity. Men in that time period generally hadn't talked much about their mothers and servants, although they occasionally referenced their wives and daughters.

Woman had also been less likely to be permitted to be literate and Sicily had been terrible for literacy until the middle of the last century anyway. Women like Agnese Floris had very definitely been the exception, not the rule; Maria Simon hadn't known how to read and her brother Corzato hadn't either, being serfs. Primo himself had only known more than the most pitiful of basics because his step-mother had been the daughter of a nobleman's housekeeper and _her_ mother had made a point of passing the education on to _all_ her children.

Daemon Space had then built upon that basic servant's education to ensure Primo could pass as minor nobility at parties, so by the time he was twenty-five the Vongola's founder had been more knowledgeable of classical literature, the arts and the sciences than his own Lightning Guardian, who despite being born to privilege had not been particularly interested in pursuing an education. Well, not until after his Sky abandoned him anyway.

Turning the page, Xanxus revealed another collection of prints, these of couples and family groups and significantly less formally posed that the earlier ones.

"Is this Secondo again?" Florrie asked, tapping the portrait of said Vongola Don with an older woman.

"Yes, with his mother." That was not the only picture of her; she was in the print of the daguerreotype with her son and her six surviving grandchildren from her son's first marriage as well, which was just below it on the page. "Think her name was Maria." There'd been a lot of Marias. "Here she is again, with Secondo's kids by his first wife." Four sons and two daughters, including the near-adult Terzo and the more visibly teenage Quarto; there was a grave with four names on the headstone in the Vongola catacombs, of the three little girls who hadn't made it out of infancy and the still-born boy that Maria Simon had died bearing.

"So these are Secondo's younger children, with him and his second wife."

"Yeah; think this was taken about eighteen sixty-two, since the youngest's still a toddler and the oldest girl looks fully grown; she'd be twenty."

"Seven children in less than twenty years, after already having six? That's pretty impressive."

"Seven surviving children," Xanxus corrected; there was another little grave for Iphis's infant and toddler children who had died, all five of them. She'd reportedly suffered several miscarriages as well.

"Oh. Yes; that used to happen more before vaccines were developed."

Xanxus hummed and pointed to another picture. "This is Lampo Ruffo; he was Primo's Guardian." The middle-aged man was grinning delightedly, arms wrapped around his smiling wife with a line of four little girls in front of them, ranging from maybe fourteen to possibly six, all also grinning. "Plus wife and daughters."

"This is possibly the happiest picture from this period I've ever seen."

It was rather unusual to see everybody beaming like that, yes; smiling like that had been considered 'simple,' but Lampo being Lampo it had probably been on purpose. Possibly to stick it to his more self-important noble relatives.

"Do you know names for all these people?"

"Some of them are in the margins." Xanxus tapped his Grandma's tiny print, all in capital letters for legibility. "Left to right and in rows, with ages."

Florrie moved the album closer, abandoning Bester entirely in favour of the pictures; the liger was however apparently satisfied with the attention he'd received and rolled over onto his back to nap.

"Who's this?"

Xanxus blinked; how had he never seen that photo before?! Glaring at it, he picked out the Mist-traces surrounding it –hiding the image from Flame-Actives who didn't already know it was there– and shredded them, revealing a further two prints and three labels.

The one his Cloud had called his attention to was of an older European man in Japanese formalwear, white hair pulled back samurai-style beside a more middle-aged Japanese lady, with a visibly mixed-blooded man and another younger Japanese woman standing slightly in front and to the side of them. Both the women were holding children, one an infant and the other a toddler.

"That's Primo, after he retired to Japan," Xanxus realised, reading the label; he hadn't realised there were _pictures_ that had made it back. "Calling himself Ieyasu; that's his wife Hachisuko next to him, his oldest son Yoshimune, his son's wife Ume with his granddaughters Yoshiko and Tsuko. Taken in eighteen-sixty-six; Primo's seventy-one then."

The next photo was of Primo-Ieyasu again, this time with three men who were obviously his grown-up sons; the label said 'Sawada Ieyasu with his sons Yoshimune, Ietsugu and Ienobu, eighteen-sixty-six.'

The third photo was of Primo-Ieyasu on the far left, his youngest son to his right, a woman to _his_ right and an elderly Japanese samurai in full formal rig on the furthest right. The couple in the middle had a teenager between them and slightly in front, also in full samurai gear and looking very proud of himself.

"This is Primo's Rain Guardian," Xanxus pointed to the old man on the right, "with his daughter who is marrying Primo's youngest son; the grandson's taken his name." Indeed the label said 'Sawada Ieyasu, Sawada Ienobu and Asari Ukaika, Asari Ugetsu; Ienobu and Ukaika's son Asari Yoshinori, eighteen-sixty-six.'

"You didn't know these were here?"

"They were hidden from people with Active Flames; I did know Primo wrote to Secondo after retiring to Japan, but I didn't know they'd exchanged photographs." Well, daguerreotypes. It was amazing they'd made the journey intact as they were rather fragile.

Florrie nodded acceptingly and turned the page. "So who are these?"

Xanxus took his cue and continued his introduction of the early Vongola; there were a _lot_ more photos starting in Quarto's time, since by then it had been possible to create glass slides and paper prints with relative ease and the Superbi had been _extremely_ into it, doing all kinds of experiments with the chemicals and the process to try to refine it and cheating with Flames a lot. There were even quite a few photos of Terzo and his household, which considering he'd been murdered aged barely twenty-eight said that somebody there had really been going to town with the photographs in those brief few years.

All in all, this was a much nicer way to introduce his Cloud to the Vongola than through one of those terrible biased textbooks or the biographies in Sicilian shark's little sister had rescued from the old fart's censorship purge. Showing her pictures involved less translation.

* * *

Part of Lal didn't want to go to Mafia Land, not even for a day at the very end of the season; she just wanted to leave this entire chapter of her life behind her and move on. But the rest of her –parts she'd only recently rediscovered– insisted on it. She would find Colonnello and tell him she was _never_ going to marry him, that they'd _never_ had a relationship and that she _despised_ him for constantly ignoring her stated feelings and _telling_ her that of course she loved him.

She had words for that now; it was called gaslighting. Manipulation. Dismissal of her agency. Emotional abuse. Visiting a counsellor while attending university had been an excellent idea and it had helped her so much, for all that she'd had to leave out certain details both to preserve Omertà and not sound delusional. Just talking with her fellow students and the younger professors had been equally helpful; so many things gone unquestioned from her childhood and military career that had been not only unhelpful but outright restricting her own growth and improvement…

Asking at the general office revealed that the blond idiot was no longer running the training for the island's security and had instead joined a Family. Not what she'd expected, honestly; much less that the family was the Cavallone. She hadn't been keeping track of Underworld goings-on while attending university –well not beyond visiting a local bar every weekend for a quiet drink and to eavesdrop on local gossip– so this was a surprise.

She'd heard about the Varia Boss quitting, followed by his Officers, and later heard confused rambles about the rest of the Varia either vanishing or retiring or moving headquarters –details were fuzzy– and even that the CEDEF had recently collapsed. Probably gone bankrupt; she _had_ warned Iemitsu about the excessive spending but he clearly hadn't listened to her. Probably hadn't listened to Basil either; despite her having trained him, the young Rain was Iemitsu's flunky through and through. He could easily have gotten killed due to Iemitsu since her leaving, but she privately hoped he'd survived and wised up a bit.

Lal was vaguely familiar with Mafia Land's addressing system, but that didn't make locating the local Cavallone residence any easier. She wandered back and forth through the business sector for a while, enjoying the cool breeze ruffling her short hair and getting a feel for how the streets had shifted since she was last here. There was a new clinic on the outskirts and one of the major roads had migrated to travel past it, looping around a boarding house and another office block before looping back closer to the shoreline. The residential sector could be reached by turning off down one of the many snickets between the trees rather than heading back to the seafront; the apartment blocks were planted somewhat haphazardly, a ragged scatter of cement pillars emerging from the vegetation with paint and shutters bleached and weathered by the salt air.

She eventually located the right building, looking much as all the other blocks did. The paint was a little fresher and there were plants on more of the balconies, but that was it really: it had the same row of industrial-sized bins out the front, the same token fence marking the perimeter of the property and the same small cluster of people loitering in the shade of the porch, bored and whiling away the time gambling or just talking.

She crossed the open space between fence posts, beside a letterbox that proclaimed the building to be ' _Le Scuderie_ ' –an amusing pun– and the air abruptly twisted and distorted around her. Blinking, Lal realised several things at once: firstly, she had just walked into a Territory; secondly, this Territory felt like Viper; thirdly, the 'loiterers' over on the steps were very clearly wearing Varia uniforms; fourthly–

"Lal! You came back! I knew you would, kora!"

Seeing the idiot blond –not her student or ex-student, not her _anything_ and she was all the better for it– running towards her, very obviously elementary age or younger, made the embarrassment she'd been free of for so long well up like a storm surge. How could he _do_ this to her?!

A thin translucent purple-limned tentacle reached out from the group on the steps and wrapped around Colonne– no –she _refused_ to call him that, he _wasn't_ an officer– around _Svevo Gennaro's_ chest, yanking him backwards so he fell on his ass in the sand.

"Manners, squirt," the young woman at the other end of the glowing tentacle said coolly, moving forwards as the others –clearly her subordinates– spread out to provide flanking support.

"But it's Lal!" the pseudo five-year-old in the black leather outfit pleaded over his shoulder. "We're engaged kora!" he turned back to smile eagerly at her, making her stomach twitch queasily.

The brown-haired young woman in the Varia uniform –complete with the stripe on her upper arm proclaiming her a Squad Leader, along with an additional seniority stripe– used the tentacle emerging from the general vicinity of her left hand –a Box Weapon?– to lift Gennaro back to his feet and turn him around. "She's a paedophile?"

Lal recoiled; she most certainly was _not!_

"Of course not!" Gennaro protested hotly, hands waving. "She's _Lal_! We were Arcobaleno together, kora! She agreed to marry me after the Curse was removed!"

"So you just don't care that your wanting to marry her makes her _look_ like a paedophile then," the Squad Leader –clearly Gennaro's Squad Leader– said evenly. "What have Micia and I said about trying to romance people, squirt?"

Gennaro shuffled. "That if I actually care about the other person I _won't_ until I'm adult again, because sane and healthy adults are _not_ sexually attracted to children and find the very idea distressing, and if anybody _does_ respond positively I'm to tell you so you can make them disappear. But, but it's _Lal!_ She knows I love her! I have since before we got Cursed, kora!"

"Your obsession is noted." The woman glanced at Lal for the first time, her one-over brief and professional. "Tetro, please escort our guest to Boss, so she can make her request in person."

The man on the far right nodded. "Yes sir." He then met Lal's eyes squarely. "This way please, sir."

"I'm not obsessed! She loves me too, kora! She _does_! Lal, tell her! Lal? Lal!"

Surprisingly gratified to be addressed as 'sir' by a Varia assassin, Lal walked past Gennaro –and did not look down at him as he kept trying to get her attention, tugging against the restraining tentacle like a yappy dog on a short leash– and followed Tetro into the building.

All her plans had gone out the window the moment she saw Gennaro again, but this was still going better than it might have done. The blond idiot having senior officers who were able to keep his behaviour in check meant that she might be able to get him to stop pursuing her, rather than just resigning herself to spending the rest of her life avoiding him.

What she'd seen –and what she remembered– of Xanxus formerly-of-the-Vongola indicated he was a cunning, professional and charismatic leader who did not allow his subordinates' extraordinary abilities stand in the way of discipline; a man who discriminated on the basis of skill, not gender or nationality or sexual orientation. He would hopefully take her reasons for visiting seriously.

* * *

Xanxus had been in his office considering the feedback from his essays that his tutors had made available and planning how he could expand on the required reading for next year, Florrie curled up on the small sofa with Optima and reading a book, when one of the Problems walked in with Lal Mirch. If indeed the woman in front of him was still calling herself that.

"Sumu said to bring our guest to you, Boss."

Xanxus identified the Lightning by voice rather than Flame-feel; Tetro and Arcigno were disconcertingly identical for first cousins. "Thank you Tetro; please wait outside."

"Yes Boss." He left. Xanxus closed his laptop and shoved it off to one side, waving at the two fiddleback chairs pushed against the wall on his right.

"Sit."

Lal paused, glanced at Florrie –who had not looked up from her book yet– and then moved one of the chairs to face him and sat down.

"Your request," Xanxus pressed, using a bit of Flame to ensure his Cloud couldn't hear what they were talking about; Harmony had interesting effects on acoustics. Lal stiffened –definitely more sensitive to Flames being used around her than his newest recruit– glanced sideways as Florrie then spoke:

"I decided to come here speak to m– to _Gennaro_ as one last attempt to get him to leave me alone. I do not want to have to spend the rest of my life avoiding him and having to talk about past experiences to new friends so they know not to listen to him."

Xanxus inclined his head, accepting her reasoning and inviting her to continue. Lal glanced at his Cloud again –who was still engrossed in her book and idly rubbing Optima's head– and continued, a trickle of feeling seeping into her words:

"I have already allowed him far too great an influence over myself and allowed myself to be manipulated into interacting with him when I had no desire to do so, as well as seeking him out when I really should have known better. I hope that a clean break will make it easier for both of us to leave the past where it belongs."

"He stole your Will," Xanxus commented; it wasn't that hard for an observer to figure out, or for Mammon to do so either while they were studying the Curse. That none of the others had come to the same conclusion said volumes about what they actually knew about Flames and how little the so-called 'strongest seven' had cared about each-other. It was increasingly obvious now the Curse was broken, as the little idiot's lack of reserves had become even more apparent.

"Pardon?"

" _You_ were the one picked to be Arcobaleno, not him; your reserves are more than four times his. The Pacifier should have killed him," Xanxus explained. Compared to Lal the faux six-year-old was _pathetic_ and not just in reserves either. "But it didn't and you lost your Primary Flame; it was bound in the Pacifier and therefore in his keeping until the Curse was broken. A portion of your soul and the manifestation of your main drives." He paused. "Not surprised you sought him out; also not surprised you can't stand him. He never listened to you."

"I… by interfering he _stole_ my Flames?!" Clearly she knew what that actually meant, unlike Micia's new headache who barely knew more than the most basic of Underworld fundamentals. A lifetime on Mafia Land had coddled him. So much ingrained Dumb and an underlying unwillingness to sit down and think past the first thought that popped into his head…

"Dislocated them certainly," Xanxus conceded. "Curse still affected you after all; wonder what would have happened if anybody had taken the Pacifiers away from the others when you were _all_ so tightly bound to them." He had a theory that there would have been more than just one 'failed' or dead Arcobaleno if that had happened; a Curse that affected a person's entire being so catastrophically would not settle for anything less. It was now known what happened when the Pacifiers were taken away after fully bonding to their bearers –death, or zombification if Bermuda got there in time which was still technically death– but in those early days before the Curse settled? It had likely been possible to survive. Physically.

Lal's fists clenched, her Flames shuddering with Cloud and Mist flaring clearly through the Rain. "Luce –she didn't say– she just let him _keep_ it!"

Xanxus shrugged. "Might not have known; not everybody's got good enough Flame-senses to pick out details like that. Maybe she expected him to die and for you to take it back, or maybe the fact that your Flames were there too meant the Pacifier was less of a drain on his reserves, so the residuals were in line with what everybody else had left, so she thought he was carrying the burden alone. Not like it matters now."

Lal's eyes flashed, but she very deliberately let the tension subside. "True, it no longer makes a difference," she agreed quietly, "but it does explain a great deal. Like why I missed him at all."

"You missed yourself, not him," Xanxus corrected quietly. "Looking much better now."

There was a pause as his guest frowned, dissecting the comment and eventually deciding he meant in Flame terms –which he did– rather than his words being a commentary of her being physically adult again. "Thank you."

"Welcome. Want me to have Sumu bring him in?" Micia was having an unexpectedly bad pain day today, hence her lie-in and the texts to her superiors, so the former Cloud Officer –who retained her seniority and authority just as the other ex-Officers did– had stepped in to make sure the Problems were all supervised and didn't get themselves into trouble. It had been a surprisingly prescient move, considering how the afternoon was turning out.

Lal nodded firmly. "That would probably be best."

Xanxus flexed his Flames, prompting Tetro to open the office door. "Yes Boss?"

"Tell Sumu I want her to bring the newest Problem over."

"Yes Boss." The door closed again; Lal got out of her chair and set it back against the wall, then turned towards the door and settled into parade rest. Probably an instinctive comfort measure; God knew he had dozens of those himself.

Florrie glanced up as the door opened, briefly looked his way then returned to her book as he offered her a quick reassuring smile. Nobody else noticed; the new Problem was already making a spectacle of himself, restrained by a tentacle from Sumu's Box Weapon like a dog on a leash. A yappy dog.

"Lal! I–"

"Shut up," the older ex-Arcobaleno said flatly. The apparent child did so, possibly in surprise. "You ruined my life, do you know that? Or did you not even _notice_?"

"But I–"

"I said. _Shut_. _Up_." She loomed forwards, Flames seething. The idiot shut up.

"I had a seven-year career in the GOI and by the end of it I was a _Second Capo Scelto_ , did you know that? Then I got transferred to the G _ruppo Scuole_ and made a _Capo di Terza Classe_. I spent three years teaching and you know what? I was a _damn_ good teacher. I got a promotion to _Capo di Seconda Classe_ and was being considered for another promotion when _you_ came along." She took a sharp breath, Flames sharpening.

"You disrespected me right from day one and you just wouldn't stop! You and your _fucking_ flirting that would have gotten any female cadet chucked out within the month, but that everybody laughed off and let slide because you were a _man_ and I wasn't! Everybody acted like it was _my_ responsibility to make you stop and I had to be 'leading you on' somehow when I sure as shit was _not_! I just wanted you to _stop_! But you didn't give a shit what _I_ wanted; you've _never_ given a shit what I wanted! You only cared about what _you_ wanted, which was to fuck me! And when I kept turning you down you just got more persistent! By the time you graduated I was under observation, had been skipped over for the promotion because my senior officers felt I was 'too emotional' and had it 'suggested' I take a sabbatical to 'consider my options.' All because _you_ couldn't take 'no' for an answer! They thought I had to be doing something to encourage you, that I was abusing my position of authority and behaving inappropriately towards my students! Because I was twice your age and a fresh cadet couldn't _possibly_ be this persistently infatuated unless I was stringing them along somehow!"

She paused, heaving in a deep breath. "Then I get invited to some hush-hush project, I spend a year getting to know everybody and learning new things and making friends and you _swan in_ at the last minute and take it all away! I thought I'd finally got _away_ from you but no, you actually _deserted your post_ to stalk me! You are a _disgrace_ to the uniform! I was on leave and resigned my position after being Cursed but you just _ran away_! Deserter! Traitor!"

The hundred-and-ten centimetre Problem cringed, apparently unable to muster a defence in the face of the tirade. This was nothing Xanxus hadn't already known, but it was still rather depressing to hear. It didn't suggest Quality after all.

"It took all my self-control not to report you! You _deserved_ to be shot! But Luce insisted you were an Arcobaleno now and part of the Underworld! Then what do you do? You decide your single year of service qualifies you to _teach_! You ignorant, arrogant amateur! I am _ashamed_ of ever having been your ranking officer! I should have pushed harder to have you thrown out!"

"But, but Lal!"

"I'm not _finished_ ," she hissed; despite sitting behind and a little to one side of her Xanxus could tell that her pupils were glowing faintly blue from the way the light reflected off the far wall. "I _never_ loved you. You have been _nothing_ but a thorn in my side from the day I first set eyes on you. Your ridiculous obsession with my body cost me my career, the next thirty-three years of my life and my mental health; I never want to see you again. If I ever _do_ see you again, I will act as though I have no idea who you are and act as a lady should when confronted by a strange man who insists he's in love with her: either call the police or shoot you in the head. Am I clear?!"

"But, but you _agreed_ to marry me, kora!"

"You harassed me for over _thirty years_ and in a moment of weakness after being released from the Arcobaleno Curse I said the one thing that would get you to stop bothering me for a little while," Lal replied tartly. "I hope your new superiors have the patience to teach you about consent, because you clearly haven't got the faintest idea what it entails, you, you _fuckboy_."

Behind Sumu, Arcigno hastily smothered a snigger.

"I only came here to get some closure and tell you to stay away from me," Lal concluded, voice going flat and terribly tired. "I don't have to put up with you anymore and I'm not going to." With that she swept past the shortest Problem and out of the office door, Flames quivering slightly; Florrie perched her open book over the sofa arm and hurried after her, dislodging Optima who wandered up to Tetro.

Optima liked Problem Squad for some reason. She hadn't warmed to the shortest idiot yet though.

"Boss, please, tell her to come back, kora!"

For very good reason, clearly. "Not going to let you manipulate her into feeling guilty for wanting her boundaries and agency respected," he informed his very Problematic newest recruit, getting to his feet. "Won't have that kind of behaviour in my Family; it's a stain on my reputation."

The blithering moron clearly didn't recognise the quote from his contract, which was a sign he was on damn thin ice as it was. "I didn't mean to do any of those things, kora! It wasn't on purpose!"

"All the more reason to keep you away from her," Xanxus drawled, idly fingering one of his guns. No, the gun would be too quick; good thing Tyrant had stopped by to keep him company a few times while he was recovering from his night terrors after New Year and taught him the nuances of that oh-so-interesting Flame-trick he favoured. Xanxus had been aware of the generalities already, but the subtleties were important too.

"But, I _need_ her to forgive me!"

"Repentance is between you and God," Xanxus pointed out, "and she doesn't _need_ to forgive you. That's her choice. And forgiving you doesn't mean she 'needs' to give you another chance either." Which was what the fuckboy actually wanted.

"But I love her, kora!"

Xanxus decided he'd had enough of this horse shit. "No," he said flatly, Flames reaching out, "you don't." He watched the moron's eyes widen, no doubt intimately aware that his heart had just stopped beating but unable to move or do anything about it. "If you actually loved her you'd listen to her, because what she wants would mean more to you than what you want. She's right; you're just a Stupid fuckboy." He moved around his desk as the faux-child crumpled to the floor, making sure to keep eye-contact. "There's no room for Stupid in my Family."

He let the asphyxiation continue until a full half-minute had passed, then flexed his  
Flames and restarted the idiot's heart just as his eyes started going glassy.

"This in your only warning," he continued as the diminutive blond gasped like a dying fish, turning his back and walking around his desk to sit down again.

"You, you _killed_ me."

Xanxus glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Going by the look on his face, yes, the idiot had. How Dumb could you get?

"Right there in the contract," he reminded the moron, opening his laptop and pulling it in front of him. He'd text Micia later to make sure the little horndog had pointed out to him the nuances in phrasing he'd clearly missed. "Get out before I do it again; permanently."

Five seconds later his office was empty, Optima having followed out after the Lightning who was scratching her behind the ears. Looking at his degree work and deciding he wasn't in the mood anymore, Xanxus got up and went looking for his Cloud.

* * *

He eventually found Florrie in his apartment, with Lal, both of them sitting on the sofa with a pot of tea next to them of the coffee table. Recognising the signs of his Cloud in full-blown comfort mode, he walked right through to the kitchen and started making himself a coffee.

Florrie wandered after him a few minutes later. "Everything sorted out?"

"Hm. Made it clear to short and Dumb that he's only getting one more chance." He'd meant it when he'd said there was no room for fuckboys in his Family; that kind of behaviour was wilful Stupid and he'd sooner see those people dead than have them ruining his reputation. Dead meant they weren't being Stupid about when, where and in whom they were trying to get their dicks wet. "How's our guest?"

"Doing better for having somebody less inherently upsetting to vent to and be affirmed by, as well as some tea."

"Tea always helps," Xanxus agreed. Florrie went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek; Xanxus felt Lal's Flames twitch slightly, indicating that she was watching through the open door.

"Brought your book," he added, removing it from his jacket –complete with an improvised bookmark– and setting it on the worktop. His Cloud leaned into his side and hugged him; he reciprocated, ducking down for another quick kiss, on the lips this time.

"Thank you," she told him, finally moving away and collecting the book.

"Very welcome," he assured her, turning back to his coffee as the change in sound from the mokka pot indicated that it was almost ready to pour. He wasn't sure how long Lal would end up staying, but she'd either have a hotel room or a seat on an outgoing ferry booked, so she probably wouldn't stick around for that long. She wouldn't have planned to spend long on Mafia Land after all, not when she'd expected to do her shouting and then have get out of reach sharpish afterwards.

He should call Mammon; they might want to catch up with the only colleague they'd deemed 'tolerable,' now that Lal was actually fully herself rather than just a shell of who she had been.

* * *

Xanxus had been making Box Weapons since February, but only handed them out a few days after Mafia Land went into isolation on the seventh of June; it wouldn't have been practical to train with a new Box Weapon when the island was full of tourists and spies, but now most people had either left or were employed renovating and repairing the tourist attractions, hotels, roads and sea defences and upgrading the security there wouldn't be anybody on the mountain or wandering around the more remote beaches –in theory– so there was space for everybody to experiment. Any nosy onlookers who wandered away from their jobs to take a closer look would be fair game; testing new equipment after all, accidents happened. There might be a spot of localised damage, but Xanxus didn't mind paying for that; the Stables didn't have any indoor training rooms suitable for using Flames in.

He'd been looking forward to this for months; Squalo said his Box Weapon choices were a reflection of his shitty sense of humour, but that was just the shark being a spoilsport. His choices of animal were appropriate and gave the recipients an opportunity to expand their fighting style, closing blind-spots and improving range!

He did have fun with the puns, but he'd always done that. That was why Karaṭi had a bear and Varg had a wolf, if an American maned wolf rather than the regular kind. It was also why Kuchisake had moths, although that was more subtle; the kind of moths she had were called great grey witches and shark often referred to her as 'horror witch'.

It wasn't all word games; there were visual puns and allusions to personality too, which was why Alizeti had a flamingo –to match his hair– Maínomai had hummingbirds and Glace had a caiman. Now a mid-sized caiman in fact, for all that Xanxus had caught it and turned it into a Box Weapon as a juvenile.

Hence why Tsue now had a net-casting spider –an allusion to her wirework specialisation– Curare had a blue-ringed octopus, Micia had a serval hybrid that had been a pet until it developed a lethal kidney disorder and Redcap had a greater flying fox, although the latter was a more layered pun referencing the fact that movie 'vampire bats' were usually flying foxes because they were larger and more dramatic to film.

He'd given Mahi the tiniest bird of prey he could find, an African hobby, because seeing the massive man holding the tiny bird on his fist amused him; it was shorter than his cousin's _hand_. It was also a bird known for hunting swallows on the wing, which was all the advantage Xanxus was willing to offer to a relative who regularly sparred against Springer.

Schön had also been given a Box Weapon, but because she specialised in subterfuge and espionage rather than direct combat he'd made her a Box Weapon that could pass as a pet. Hence his buying a fancy ferret from a breeder –champagne coloured to make it easier to differentiate from Bel's albino mink– and using that, rather than poaching a wild animal. She loved it and had taken to wearing it across her shoulders around the Stables, as well as making it a basket to sleep in rather than putting it back in its ring.

He'd also cracked 'generic' Box Weapons –ones which could be opened by anybody rather than keying themselves to the first non-Sky who opened them– and made a few for each Flame-type that the other Squad Leaders could take turns with. They were all less charismatic animals, designed to blend into a range of locations, so there were rats, foxes, several species of seagulls –he'd had fun shooting those down with a rifle– a few domestic-looking cats who'd been coming to the end of their lifespans, deer, squirrels, crows and most amusingly a few electric eels he'd not been able to resist turning into Lightning and Rain Box Weapons. The Rain electric eel was still electric, which was what he'd been hoping for although it was very tricky to wield as a result.

Sooner or later people would realise they could pay him to make them a Box Weapon, but for now he was just doing it for fun. He wouldn't sell them to anybody outside of his people, but if somebody decided they were prepared to pay in order to jump to the front of the queue, that was fine.

They didn't get to choose what they got though, although they were always free to make suggestions.

He was pondering getting his sketchbook before joining Florrie on his balcony –which was veiled so it looked empty– when there was a knock at his apartment door. Heading over to open it, Xanxus's eyebrow twitched when the visitors turned out to be Chew Toy plus Guardians and Mahi.

"There's something wrong with Springer's Box Weapon, Boss," the seven-foot Superbi said without preamble. "We were messing about up the hill so I could get a feel for Lodolaia and Kojirō reformed incompletely after my girl caught him." 'Lodolaia' was what Mahi was calling his hobby; it was a typically Superbi naming choice –it meant 'hobby'– although the literal translation was 'lark-catcher'.

Hence the concerned peanut gallery; well at least this was an _interesting_ problem. "The Box Weapon," he demanded, holding out a hand. Springer gave him the ring and he turned back into the apartment towards the hallway, then turned back and detoured to the kitchen to turn off the gas under the kettle.

Wouldn't do to have it boil dry because he wasn't paying attention.

* * *

The only way to work on a Box Weapon was to have it actually be box shaped, which meant reversing the slightly brain-bending trick that turned them ring-shaped in the first place. Xanxus knew how though –had paid Talbot a lot of money to teach him– and really, turning the Boxes into rings was actually safer; it was much harder to damage the internal circuitry when all said circuitry was cleverly folded away into higher dimensions.

Having an audience of four stacked on the stairs leading down to his basement workshop was perhaps a little annoying, but it was Springer's Box Weapon, Kalk and Mahi were no problem and he couldn't tell just Chew Toy to leave. Ignoring them was fairly easy though, as Mahi had considerately put up a veil to muffle sound and Flames so the inevitable questions wouldn't distract him. It also meant Chew Toy's Flames weren't as annoying as usual; Tyrant had managed to teach the trash to Activate his Flames the normal way rather than switching straight to Dying Will Mode all the time, which was good but it meant Xanxus could feel how anxious Chew Toy was. Muted now compared to before at least, but still obsessively stressing over every little thing.

The Rain Swallow ring resisted the transformation back to box-shaped, which it really shouldn't have done. Xanxus had to both push harder and use Harmony to ease the process through, but after fifteen minutes he had a cubic blue Box Weapon for his troubles.

A visibly damaged blue Box Weapon. Xanxus probed it cautiously with his Flames; the damage looked odd, like it had been attacked with Storm Flames.

What kind of metal was this? He'd expected it to be heavily imbued with Rain Flames –that was normal– but this wasn't anything like the alloys he used.

Oh right; Chew Toy's people had brought their Box weapons out of the fake future. The theory had been that Yuni had used the Sky Pacifier to make them real –as she had herself– but this didn't look like that was what had happened. Feeling for the seams, Xanxus frowned when he couldn't immediately find any.

If this was a created object, there should be seams. The only technological items that _lacked_ seams were Mist-constructs.

Hm. That _was_ a thought…

He turned towards the steps. "Brought your Vongola rings with you, trash?"

"Tsuna said to leave them behind," Springer said easily in reply, his words bypassing the veil since Xanxus had initiated the conversation.

Xanxus nodded absently –confirmation– and went back to exploring the Box Weapon with his Flames. The security on it was shit –early model of course, as after getting the fake memories Verde had improved the designs so as to sell the Boxes at a higher price– so he could probably open it if he wanted to. Opening it would help reveal where the problems were.

He didn't need the flashy lightshow and opened the Box Weapon without one; it just took control rather than pouring Flames in willy-nilly. The surprised faces in the corner of his eye indicated they hadn't realised you could do that; amateurs. Then the bird coalesced and Xanxus went back to ignoring his audience in favour of the puzzle to hand.

The resulting swallow looked more like a glitchy hologram than anything else. Understandable when Box Animals were basically hard-light constructs; something off with the projector and the transformer maybe? Behaviour wasn't quite right either though; that implied a more fundamental problem, something attacking the etched gemstone core the personality matrix was inscribed in.

Combat damage would only have affected the projector and transformer, possibly the buffers and battery; for there to be wear on the personality matrix –which even in these early boxes had been inscribed on gems with an absolute hardness of at least one hundred, like quartz– it would have to have suffered considerable damage which should show elsewhere too since damage like that would be indiscriminate. As a Rain Box this one probably used blue spinel at its core, which was at least half as hard again as quartz.

Storm Flames couldn't damage spinel; it was a universal Flame conductor, although it only amplified Rain Flames. More fuel for his hypothesis.

Closing the Box Weapon then reaching into it with his Sky Flames, Xanxus grabbed a pen and paper and started sketching blindly. Yes, the structure _was_ right, but the materials didn't _feel_ right. It felt… undifferentiated. Like it had been injection moulded in a single piece, circuits, core and all. There were certain Flame-Tech alloys that let you do that sort of thing –whatever the focus medium on the Vongola Rings was for instance because those _weren't_ gemstones– but they were rare, expensive and took incredible skill to both manufacture and shape.

Making an entire Box Weapon out of them was just Stupid, especially when this Box Weapon had supposedly been made by Koenig, Innocenti and Verde, who as scientists wouldn't have the required craftsmanship to create such materials or the money for the raw ingredients; they had sold the fake Box Weapons as cheaply as they did to fund other research, so they couldn't have sold them at a loss. Yes, the old ghoul _had_ modified them, but Xanxus seriously doubted he'd done _this_. Besides, there wasn't Talbot's tell-tale mark anywhere; the old ghoul hid them well, but everything he'd ever made had his maker's mark on it, just as Xanxus signed all his projects regardless of whether he was selling them or giving them away.

Besides, if it had _actually_ been a Flame Alloy then it wouldn't be damaged. Those things were ridiculously indestructible. When the Vongola Rings had shattered it had been the bands breaking, not the foci.

Finishing his sketch, Xanxus slid his fingers along the faint carved lines where seams should have been. If he was right, then this would work…keeping his mind open and focusing intently how there _should_ be seams there, he probed those narrow cracks with his Flames.

If he'd not been paying close attention he would have missed the change as the outer plating responded to his certainty, as a good Real Illusion did when confronted with somebody experiencing mild doubt and seeking clarification. The original creator might not have been aware of all the fine details, but when facing somebody who _did_ know those things a well-made Creation would scavenge that information and use it to bolster its realism.

Dismantling the Box Weapon down the newly-created seams, Xanxus set three of the plates aside on his anvil and turned it this way and that under the light, deliberately closing his mind to the continued soft probing from the Box Weapon.

"The problem with your Box Weapon," he said, turning to Springer, "is that it's made of Flames and wishful thinking. You got these in the fake-future, which was essentially a very well-made Territory; the thing about Territories is that everything in them is made of Mist Flames. Frequently reinforced with other Flame-types if it's a collaborative effort –those feel far more real– but still a Mist construct. So this," he poked the Box Weapon, "is made of Mist Flames and only physically exists because Talbot bonded it to your Vongola Ring, which since the ring accesses the Tri-Ni-Set meant it could reinforce the Box Weapon's existence with your Flames and anchor it by reminding it what it was supposed to look like and do. Except that you left your Vongola Ring behind, so three weeks on your Box Weapon is degrading like any other poorly-maintained illusion."

Turning away from the shock and hurt on Springer's face and the disbelief on Chew Toy's –Kalk seemed far less surprised, interestingly– Xanxus set the fake down on his anvil, stepped back and used his Sky Flames to gently and firmly inform it of its non-existence.

It promptly popped like a soap bubble along with the removed external plates, leaving a fading wisp of Rain and Mist behind it.

"There you go."

Springer got up and walked over, staring at the empty space with bereavement running through his Flames. "So Jirō's not real either," he said softly.

"Sorry," Xanxus managed, recognising belatedly that this was a moment when sympathy was called for.

"Not your fault Boss; you didn't do it," Springer said with a fake smile.

"No reason why I can't replace them," Xanxus pointed out, "Although they wouldn't be exactly the same, of course." Even Bester wasn't exactly the same and he was the _same animal_ , but he liked the new Bester more anyway; he was more authentically liger-like than the animal in Xanxus's false memories.

"I'll think about it," Springer said quietly.

"Natsu isn't real?" Chew Toy whined, sounding completely devastated.

Xanxus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, abruptly sympathising with the shark's 'why am I surrounded by idiots' tirades. "Chew Toy, your mini-lion was the most blatantly fake of the lot and I never _once_ believed it had _ever_ been a real animal. Go cuddle with the cats for a few hours and you'll see what _real_ feline behaviour looks like. We've even got a few lion hybrids, so you can check how completely un-lion-like yours was; it didn't even _look_ right. Have you never seen a _real_ lion cub? Your _thing_ looked like a cartoon drawn by somebody who'd only ever seen pictures of adult lions and assumed that a cub would be a chibi version! The first time I saw it I thought it was one of those Chinese lion dogs wearing fake cat ears!" A Pekingese or something, whatever they were called.

The younger Sky made a feeble squeaky noise that completely justified his nickname.

"Ever decide you want a replacement, find me," Xanxus finished, making an effort to control his tone; he was tired of this shit and wanted to go snuggle with his Cloud for a few hours. Solving the mystery had been fun but untangling messy emotional aftermath was not at all his cup of tea. "Now scram."

The trash scrammed; Mahi murmured thanks for his time before striding out after them. Xanxus picked up the sketch and got his own designs out; he could do a compare and contrast while he was keeping his Cloud company.

Oh, and he should make that pot of tea; he was thirsty and Florrie would be too.

* * *

"Squalo, I thought you might like to hear the results of the magistrate trials that Don Vongola's Cloud and his associates experienced at the end of last month. Seeing as you won't be getting the news where you are."

Squalo couldn't help the grin splitting his face as he remembered Xanxus's retelling of that incident. "So tell me then."

"The minimum sentence was for the driver who was local and had no guns found in his car; he was fined five hundred pounds for obstructing a public right of way, a further five thousand pounds for having a knife on his person, and an additional fifteen hundred pound fine as accessory to aggravated trespass."

"Seven thousand pounds total then." Squalo was impressed; that wasn't chickenfeed. And that was the minimum sentence?

"The next least serious was the young man fined five thousand pounds and sentenced to six months in jail for possession of a blade in a public place, with an extra two thousand pound fine as accessory to aggravated trespass and a further four thousand pound fine for possession of false documentation. He's been extradited and is quietly sitting out his sentence in an Italian jail. The eleven thousand pound fine has been arranged by his extended family, with the Vongola supplying two-thirds of it in reparation."

That made sense when knife-guy had been arrested while under Visconti's authority.

"Third was another local; possession of a firearm without a certificate, carrying a firearm in a public place, aggravated trespass and common assault. Total potential sentence of seventeen years and nine months; he pled guilty, admitted freely that he'd been uncomfortable with what he was doing and got a reduced sentence of ten years and an eight thousand pound fine. He's Underworld, so he'll be networking locally in jail and doing his best to avoid ever being arrested for anything again afterwards, as he only just managed to avoid organised crime charges."

That would be the smart redhead then.

"Forth was the driver of the other car; possession of firearms without a certificate, carrying a firearm in a public place, possession of a shotgun without a certificate, accessory to aggravated trespass, obstructing a public right of way and possession of false identity documents; maximum sentence of twenty-eight years and three months. He got fifteen years and a ten thousand pound fine; he's not been extradited yet, but the Italian government's going to want that done so they have him where they can see him, since it's got out now that this is somehow Vongola-related even though they weren't really able to get organised crime offences to stick, since in the United Kingdom most of the organised crime charges relate to money laundering."

"Voi, were they Stupid, carrying guns around in the UK?" Squalo demanded. "It's not like the police are armed there and the laws are incredibly strict."

"A very valid question," the cat agreed dryly. "Anyway I can hear you getting bored already, so: the remaining three underlings were all convicted of firearm charges, aggravated trespass, common assault and possession of false identity documents; the police were incredibly thorough there and picked up on _all_ the false names being used. One of them got an additional knife charge, so it ended up being two getting fifteen years and a twelve thousand pound fine and the third getting the same time and a fifteen thousand pound fine."

"And Visconti?"

"Charged with absolutely everything bar the traffic charge, with additional incitement, importation of firearms and possession of criminal property charges –the Vongola Ring– but given his age, the magistrate settled on a reduced sentence and a higher fine. He will be sitting in jail for a mere eight years and has to pay a whopping fifty thousand pound fine; extradition has not been offered, but again the Italian government is likely to try due to the Vongola Ring currently sitting in an evidence box somewhere." Not for much longer though, Squalo would put money on it; Don Vongola would want that back and substituting with a fake would be fairly easy for even a barely competent Mist.

"How's Don Vongola taking things?"

"Badly," Pantera said dryly, "although I believe a convincing body double will soon be substituted for the Cloud Guardian, since the real names of most of those involved were not determined. Gossip however suggests that his time in custody awaiting trial has not been good for Visconti's health, so he is unlikely to return to his usual duties upon returning and will have to be very careful not to leave his fingerprints on anything in future, since they are now on file with Interpol."

There were people who just left their fingerprints lying about? How was that professional? "Any more scurrilous gossip you'd like to share?" Squalo drawled, leaning back in his chair.

"It was revealed to the Alliance yesterday that Gokudera Hayato had died on the third of June of kidney failure–"

"Voooi, fucking _what_?!" Squalo nearly fell off his chair entirely.

"–and the autopsy determined the damage to be due to long-term exposure to Poison Cooking, exacerbated by his chain-smoking and poor eating habits; the smoking on its own wouldn't have been so terrible just yet but exposure to Poison Cooking fumes and making his own bombs had scarred his lungs extensively, depriving his body of oxygen and further stressing his systems. The examiners said they'd never seen such advanced COPD in someone so young. His sister promptly had a very public breakdown, irreversibly contaminated all foodstuffs and plants within a twenty-metre radius and then turned her Flames on her own internal organs, liquefying them; she was dead minutes later," kitty finished, "but not before leading Vongola Housekeeping and Security on a merry chase all over the Iron Fort, seriously poisoning over one hundred people and forcing Medical to close entirely as they destroy and replace all their contaminated stock. Housekeeping are also destroying all the foodstuffs in the building, including tinned produce in long-term storage and the entire wine cellar, which will be _exceedingly_ costly to replace."

That was dramatic, oddly karmic and no doubt horrendously traumatising for victims, bystanders and everybody else being peripherally affected by the escalating disaster; clearly Bel had been involved somehow. This kind of messy and exponentially expanding chaos was his signature; the occasional incidents of 'blood everywhere' were just a means to the ultimate end. The timing was almost right for Bel to have precipitated this, as though smuggling Springer, Kalk and Chew Toy out of the country hadn't been dramatic enough; there were poisons that could precipitate kidney failure then break down and metabolise out before the long-term effects kicked in, so clearly Prince the Ripper had been planning this for a while and helping the brats escape had been a crime of opportunity on the side rather than the main event. "Voi, that sounds _intensely_ unpleasant."

"I envy you for being so far away from it all," his cousin agreed tiredly. "Don Bianchi is inconsolable at the loss of his two eldest children, regardless of the continued estrangement from his mistress's son. He is organising both funerals, since Tsunayoshi is still missing and it was finally revealed last week that he left the Vongola Sky Ring behind. With both Hands missing alongside him, one Guardian dead and the only other one in the country being underage, Don Vongola is recalling the other Rings and has announced that he will be selecting another Heir during Quiet Week." A sigh. "Five-year-old Agata Bianchi reportedly had a screaming tantrum when she was told both her beloved big sister and the brother she'd never met were dead. Mattia is only recently two, so he won't even remember he _had_ additional older siblings."

Cat cared because he had a daughter, was expecting another child and could see himself all too well in Don Bianchi, regardless of the dramatic difference in levels of intelligence and good sense.

"Shit happens and people die," Squalo said shortly, reminded again of his older brother's senseless death. "So there'll be a new Decimo by the end of next week." About time, seeing as it was a month since Chew Toy had run for the hills. "Anybody found Iemitsu yet?" Alive or otherwise.

"No; Nono also announced that if Sawada was still missing by the first day of Quiet Week he would be removing the man from the External Advisor position for gross negligence of his duties –which is allowed after a three month absence without prior warning or any form of communication– and investing a new one after Quiet Week is over." Kitty hummed over the phone, the sound almost a purr. "The Superbi will be bringing their grievances to his attention on the first day of Quiet Week, as it happens, so no doubt there will be a lot going on."

"Let me know how that goes, voi." It was bound to be entertaining; maybe Don Vongola would manage to have a heart attack?

"I will do; talk to you later, cousin."

"Bye." Squalo hung up, pocketed his phone and went looking for Bel. He just _had_ to hear the details of this. Bel was likely to be happy to brag in exchange for news of how things had unfolded in the aftermath.

* * *

Xanxus had just finished eating a late lunch and was clearing the table –Florrie was helping– when his phone rang. Fishing it out –why was kitty-cat calling him?– he answered:

"Kitty."

"Coguaro, I need you to be official for a moment," his cousin said, voice brisk with all the notes that indicated he was mid-flow and commanding several other people's attention. "You've been named as executor for the Vongola Rings and estates until the Heir is, and I quote, 'of legal age and demonstrating the necessary aptitude to administer them responsibly' and need to either come back to Sicily post-haste or name a proxy."

Did this mean that– "What?" he demanded reflexively, setting his plate down and walking out of the kitchen towards his workshop, veiling himself lightly so his Cloud couldn't overhear.

"Don Vongola is dead," was Pantera's blunt reply, "the Vongola has no Heir and according to Legal you're the only person authorised to sign off on anything. I've got the requisite quorum for recognising a legal proxy here with me, but you need to make a nomination immediately and then put a Flame seal on the appropriate papers as soon as possible; I will happily pay for the necessary expedited Mist-delivery."

The old fart was _dead_? Seriously? He was _dead_ and he'd named _Xanxus_ in his will as executor of the estates until Chew Toy –or whoever was replacing him– was of age and considered competent? Fucking _seriously?_

"Xanxus Coguaro Superbi-Cavallone, are you still there?"

"Still here," he acknowledged, leaning against the nearest wall. "Fuck. Right. Put me on speaker." There were formalities to deal with for the wellbeing of the majority, and then after that was addressed he could ask his questions.

There was a click; "You're on speaker, Xanxus."

"I, Xanxus Coguaro Cavallone of the Superbi Family" –since he was speaking as an Alliance member right now– "do nominate Pantera Superbi as my legal proxy in matters pertaining to the Vongola Rings and estates, and confirm that in these matters his signature and Flames are as mine. He has my full confidence." There wasn't anybody _else_ over there right now he cared to nominate and the cat was more than competent.

There was a short silence. "Xanxus, I'm already Don Superbi as of this morning," Pantera said flatly. "My father got back from a meeting run long last night and declared he was done with politics and they were my problem now."

"So the Superbi are leading the Alliance now." Xanxus really did not give a single shit. "Maybe things will actually work properly for once rather than limping along on nepotism, brown-nosing and bribery."

There was a flurry of coughs and throat-clearing; yes, he knew perfectly well he was still on speaker. They all deserved it for not giving the old fart the boot well before he finally pegged it.

"Noted," his cousin said, tone light but fierce calculation and multiple lines of thought audible beneath the humour. "Any objections to Xanxus's nomination?" A brief silence. "No? Good. Let's get things moving then. Cousin, I'll call you back." He hung up.

Xanxus blinked briefly at his phone, pocketed it and trudged dazedly back into the kitchen, where Florrie was washing up. This wasn't at all how he'd expected today to go.

He should probably talk to Chew Toy about this, but honestly it could wait until kitty called him back and gave him more details.

Fuck, _why_ had the old fart left governance of the Vongola to _him_?!

* * *

"Voi, so what happened then?"

A sigh erupted from the speaker on Xanxus's phone, which was propped up on the coffee table so everybody could hear. They'd all congregated in their Sky's living room; Squalo had claimed one of the armchairs, Luss had the other, Bel and Mammon were sprawled on the floor and Xanxus was on his couch with Florrie, her in his lap and Bester's upper body draped over her lap. Quiet Week was now over and all of the ex-Varia were itching with curiosity about what exactly had happened, although Florrie had made it clear she wouldn't be asking any questions during the call, since she wanted to stay out of 'crime stuff' as much as possible.

"I take it you're all aware of Iemitsu's disappearance, Tsunayoshi's abdication, Visconti's prison sentence and fine and Hayato Gokudera's unfortunate demise, followed by his sister's breakdown?" Pantera asked rhetorically. "Well as I'm sure you can imagine, Don Vongola was under considerable pressure to respond appropriately to all these issues, although various Dons' perception of what counts as 'appropriate' differs significantly."

Of course it would; they all had their own agendas. Squalo rolled his eyes.

"Then on the Monday of Quiet Week my father took a large Family delegation to the Iron Fort to inform Don Vongola that his choices and actions over the past year had repeatedly broken the Vongola-Superbi alliance treaty and that his failure to address those issues and make appropriate reparations to the injured parties before the year was out meant that the Superbi were withdrawing from the Alliance until such reparations were made. At which point the Family would be open to negotiations on a new treaty. That discussion lasted from three in the afternoon until eleven at night, nothing was resolved and upon getting back Don Leone informed me of his retirement, effective immediately."

Bel snickered; Squalo agreed, that _was_ funny and entirely in character for his uncle.

"I therefore led the delegation to the Iron Fort the following morning at nine as Don Superbi, where I was shown into the negotiation room and served drinks but then no-one else came in for a full half hour. Then Ganache walked in, apologised for the delay and bluntly informed me that Coyote had had a heart attack yesterday evening during negotiations –which neither I nor the other members of my party had been aware of– and had been recovering in Medical, but that Don Vongola had a stroke in his bed during the night and died, and the backlash of the bond breaking had caused Coyote's death in the early hours of the morning. Medical had of course done all they could, but it was Coyote's abrupt decline that alerted them to Nono Vongola's condition, by which point there was nothing they could do."

So Don Vongola had been under considerable stress, as had his Right Hand, the Right Hand had succumbed which increased the pressure and strain on Don Vongola, who had also succumbed but at a point when help was not immediately on hand. Unfortunate but natural and rather predictable; if Nono had been more conscious of his own mortality he might have slept with a Medical team on standby in a nearby room. Expensive and a touch intrusive, but an ounce of prevention might have made all the difference.

That was all in the past now though.

"With Don Vongola declared dead, his Right Hand also dead, his Left Hand recently retired for medical reasons and no Heir forthcoming, I stepped in to divert the building panic and suggested Legal be contacted, as Timoteo Vongola was bound to have made a Will," Pantera continued briskly, "the basics of which you are already aware of."

"He made Xanxus executor," Squalo stated flatly; it was the height of irony, it really was, considering what Chew Toy had done to get away and where he currently was. Never mind what Timoteo Vongola had done to Xanxus himself.

"Essentially," the cat agreed. "The External Advisor is traditionally one of the witnesses of a Vongola Will, so he cannot be left any bequest or responsibilities, and it was clearly stated that Nono Vongola 'has never been given reason to doubt Xanxus's devotion to the Vongola ideal and the people under the Family's protection.' Your public nomination of me as your proxy was most unexpected, Coguaro, but it did enable me to ensure the usual Quiet Week matters could be dealt with smoothly." He huffed. "A few people were less than pleased to have the Superbi heading the Vongola, but they subsided when it was pointed out that their only alternative was to ask you to reconsider your decision."

"Long term plans?" Xanxus asked.

"I don't suppose you can be persuaded to return, cousin?"

"No."

"Well I had to ask," kitty continued smoothly, no doubt having expected that response. "I have replaced a lot of underbosses and representatives this week and there are still a lot of issues up in the air, but I believe things will settle. Ganache did at least manage to recover the full set of Vongola Rings from Tsunayoshi's remaining Guardians; Talbot showed up a few days ago and returned them to their original state, so they're neatly boxed up awaiting the next Heir. So what are you planning on doing next, oh Vongola executor?"

Over on the couch Xanxus rested his chin on Florrie's shoulder, arms wrapped snugly around her waist. "Won't be coming over until September at the earliest," he said firmly, "and will meet the various candidates for Don Vongola then; the Rings are important after all. No reason that Don Vongola _needs_ to lead the Alliance though; you've got the aptitude and the training. Got the connections and support too."

"Coguaro, are you just _dumping_ this in my lap?"

"Yes," Xanxus said shamelessly over Bel's gleeful sniggering. "Have fun. Start by separating out the private Vongola inheritances and bequests from the Alliance ones; the old fart never did manage to untangle private from public and clarifying what belongs to Don Vongola and what he simply administers on the Alliance's behalf will make it easier to pin down what the eventual Vongola Heir is actually going to _own_."

"That will keep people busy and convince the other Dons of goodwill," Pantera mused, "as well as implying that they might be able to increase their respective Families' influence." Not that kitty would actually let that happen, but it was a handy illusion as he got his people in place and really settled in for the long haul. "Might I hire a few of your delightfully discreet professionals, cousin? The more I dig into the files the more situations I find that would benefit from a spot of judicious pruning. Or even just judicious terrorising; so much prejudiced complacency, it's appalling."

"Feel free," Xanxus agreed, visibly and audibly amused. "Want quick local accidents or ominous near-misses, contact the Ferri in Cavallone territory near Palermo; they have retired Varia on contract. Want something more dramatic and messy, the Ferri have the fax and email for the _Servizio Sfoltimenti_ my Storm is overseeing."

A thoughtful hum came through the phone's speaker. "Xanxus, might you have seen Tsunayoshi and his Hands since you left the country?"

"Seen them," the Sky agreed mildly.

"Do you know where they are now?"

"No." Because of course they could be anywhere on the island; Xanxus couldn't say for sure.

"Do you know who _would_ know?"

"Yes." Tyrant would, of course.

"Well if you would, please pass it on that their respective non-Vongola relatives are in good health and that Bouche is currently arranging a wide-ranging Perception Alteration involving body doubles so that Underworld attention will be diverted elsewhere," Pantera said mildly, "and that he has put money on Kyōya Hibari locating the 'truant small animal' before the end of October."

Passing _that_ on would reassure Springer, who was very conscious of the risks to his father, while making Chew Toy squeak loudly at the prospect of being ambushed by an irate Cloud. Which reminded Squalo: where was Reborn in all this? He'd clearly not been in Sicily when Chew Toy made his escape. Taking hits again possibly?

"That said, I have every intention of getting this straightened out _before_ Immacolata makes me a father again," cat said, steel in his tone, "so I look forward to seeing you in September."

"If you've got matters untangled by then."

"Oh I will do, Coguaro," the cat said ominously, "watch me." He hung up.

"So now what, Boss-honey?" Luss asked.

Their Sky shrugged one shoulder. "So nothing. We do what we want; kitty can run the Alliance. Will see about picking an Heir the Rings like –probably be better off making the Vongola Rings contingent on being External Advisor; that provides more leeway for idealism and campaigning for actual change with fewer risks and costs to consider– then leave them to it. Like what I'm building here."

"So we stay here," Squalo concluded. He should probably mention the possibility of the former Sun Arcobaleno hunting his ex-student down to Tyrant; Chew Toy was the Head of Housekeeping's personal Apprentice after all, so Tyrant could respond to assaults by third parties on the younger Sky as lethally as he wished.

"For now," Xanxus agreed. "Probably move elsewhere once the Alliance has settled and we find a decent property with room for the cats."

Yeah, that sounded good. It'd be nice to be able to finally put down roots somewhere; for now though, Mafia Land was fine. Squalo was enjoying the challenge and novelty of what they were building here and clearly Xanxus was too.

"Xanxus?"

The Sky looked down at Florrie. "Hm?"

"If you have the rings, are actually blood-related through your father and the late Don has officially placed the Vongola in your care until you select an Heir, does that mean _you_ are Decimo?"

Bel rolled on his back cackling like a loon; Squalo had to smother a snort. Xanxus's face was a _picture_. He hoped Mammon had a camera on them to immortalise the moment forever.

"Fuck," the Sky said eventually, tone utterly bemused. "Maybe?"

"Well at least Squ-chan will be able to get a haircut now if he wants one," Luss commented, smile bright.

Yeah, that _was_ something. This was not at _all_ how he'd expected things to go when he'd made that promise twelve years back though!


End file.
